Spelling not Required
by omni82
Summary: Miaka is a genki, street wise girl who one day gets sucked into a mysterious world via her computer. Apprenticed to a common thief, she manages to steal the power of a god! Chapter 10: Tasuki's Ransom Demand
1. Miaka moves in

Chapter One  
  
The dull glow of the computer, normally all but invisible, stood out like a beacon in the velvety blackness of the night. Soft light radiating from the monitor gave an ethereal cast to its user's perky features. Large green eyes, usually brimming with emotion, grew lifeless with each monotonous click of the mouse. Her blank expression gave testimony that she had fallen prey to the kind of mindlessness only to be found in those who surfed the Web at three in the morning.  
  
Stretching sinuously, waves of reddish-brown hair spilled over Miaka Yuuki's upraised arms. She stood abruptly, and announced to the empty room, "My butt has gone numb." Undeterred by the lack of response, she continued. "I think a Sprite would be nice right now. Yes, Miaka," she agreed, "A Sprite would be nice. But first..."  
  
She highlighted the entry box for Search, and typed in quickly Santana. With luck, it would be able to locate some sites by the time she had completed the brief journey to her kitchen and back. The Internet was usually less crowded at night, making it faster to find something.  
  
She tromped back to her computer, perversely enjoying the noise that the thick soles of her combat boots produced. Obnoxious was not the word to describe the couple that lived beneath her. If she could disturb their rest even a little, she would consider the night well spent.  
  
A drop of crimson on her keyboard caused Miaka to look at her hand in bemusement. Her index finger was bleeding profusely from a shallow gash. She stared at it quizzically for a moment, and then shrugged. Sticking it into her mouth, she decided that she must have cut it on the can of soda.  
  
Settling back in front of her computer, she looked at the sites listed and groaned. She had accidentally typed "Suzaku" instead of Santana.  
  
"Shoot. Maybe the fact that I failed every spelling test I ever took in elementary school actually meant something...Nah. That would have made my teachers right and that's just too weird to even consider."  
  
Her mouse was poised to click on Home, when something caught her eye. Under a Website titled "The Four Gods," was a description. It read;  
  
"Adventure with a beautiful young heroine, many gorgeous men, and as much free food as you can eat."  
  
Interest immediately piqued, Miaka highlighted the site. What were the chances of her two favorite things in the world being listed? She didn't really care about the "beautiful young heroine" part. After all, if she did, the "many gorgeous men" wouldn't have held much appeal, now would it?  
  
There wasn't any time for thoughts beyond that not even that it was downloading unnaturally fast, before a scarlet light filled her eyes and a dull roar her ears. She gave a wordless scream of terror.  
  
"Not my hard drive!" came the anguished wail.  
  
When the light cleared she blinked. She was standing in an open clearing, inhabited by rocks, lizards, and a few scruffy bushes. Also - a few equally unattractive and scruffy bandits.  
  
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," she muttered. The wisecrack helped not at all.  
  
She whirled in shock as a hand seized her arm roughly. Facing her were five ill-matched men with swords. Each of them was twice her height and as heavily muscled as a bear. She could have cared less. Galvanized into action by the rudeness of the creep, she punched - a friendly greeting from her home city of Tokyo. Miaka had been in enough street fights that the return blow wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected was its force. It sent her sprawling, dazed to the ground. Closing her eyes, she waited for a succeeding blow that never came. Cracking an eyelid open tentatively, she saw the five bandits facing one lone black haired hunk.  
  
"My arm! My arm! Get him!" The leader of the band, who had previously been descending on Miaka, was clutching his abused appendage from the painful treatment it had received at the hand of the newcomer.  
  
The four men followed the orders of their indisposed leader, rushing the man and shouting oaths that made even Miaka blush. From her prone position on the ground, she watched the man fight with awe. Flowing like water from one opponent to another, her savior quickly took them down. Bruised, battered, and beaten, her assailants just scraped up the energy to turn tail and run.  
  
"I didn't really need your help," she lied blithely, "But thanks anyway." The man turned to look at her. It was then that she saw the blazing gold symbol of the demon on his forehead.  
  
He gave an incredulous snort. "What do you mean, you didn't need my help?" he demanded. "Never mind that. Thanks are all very well and good, but you know what's better? Money." He held out his hand expectantly before her.  
  
"I don't know if I have any..." Miaka began searching her pockets. It proved fruitless.  
  
"Nope, sorry. I must have left my wallet at home."  
  
The man looked disgusted and turned away. "Great. I saved a miser." Disdain clear, he started to walk.  
  
"Wait! I'm lost! Tell me where I am!"  
  
"Sorry, no can do," he replied maliciously. "I've gotta go - poor folk bug me."  
  
"Hey, get back here you big jerk!" Belatedly, she staggered to her feet and began to chase after him, but it was too late. He was gone.  
  
"Oh no you don't. I'm not letting you get away that easily," she swore.  
  
Hitching a ride on the back of a hay wagon, Miaka surveyed the surrounding land as she passed. Rolling green hills and sparkling blue streams were all she could see. It was a startling contrast to the barren area she had just left. To the right, a pristine city rose out of the tall grass. Miaka gasped, she had never seen anything like it. After all, in her experience, a pristine city was practically an oxymoron. Astonishment was quickly taken over by satisfaction as she spied the man.  
  
"Got you now buddy. Thanks for the ride, mister!" Hopping off the back, Miaka ran toward the city, leaving behind a very confused wagon driver.  
  
But upon arrival in the city, she realized she was lost and could no longer see the man.  
  
"Shit! I've lost him! What will I do now? I'm lost in a foreign city, with no food or shelter. I'll shrivel up and die! Wild dogs will eat me, I'll get mumps, and, and..... mm, teriyaki beef." Her melodramatic tirade was cut off by the scent of food sold in the stall next to her.  
  
"Excuse me, but have you seen a good looking man with the symbol of a demon on his forehead?" Miaka passed a few coins to the vendor as he handed her some food.  
  
"No, but you can call me good looking any time." Miaka surveyed him carefully. He was dirty, sporting three-day-old stubble and acne scars from his youth that had never quite cleared up.  
  
"If it's all the same, I think not."  
  
"Huh?" He looked down, examining the coins. "Hey! This isn't real money!" Miaka ran off shouting, "Stuff it! I've had enough trouble for today!"  
  
After getting far enough away, Miaka sat on a crate in a side alley to contemplate her next course of action.  
  
"What do I do now? I'm all alone, in a strange world, and the guy with demon symbol is missing. If only there was some cute guy radar. If only I were back home!" As she was thinking aloud, an attractive blonde man approached her and tapped her lightly on the back, causing her to jump down from where she had been sitting.  
  
"Excuse me, miss, but I can't help but notice that you're new around here. Would you like to go to the parade with me?"  
  
"Parade? What parade?" she questioned. Then her thoughts intruded in a flash.  
  
'Am I being picked up? Have I crafted myself into the woman of every man's dreams?'  
  
Coyly, but as not to appear shy, Miaka grabbed the guy by his shirt. "I'd love to, but I'm looking for someone," she answered promptly. The man smiled winningly at her.  
  
"The guy with the demon symbol, right? He's a friend of mine."  
  
"Really? Then what's his name?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
"Jack," he responded, so promptly that all of her fears were assuaged.  
  
"Great! Can I meet him?" At the man's nod, Miaka followed the friendly stranger, happily unaware of any impending danger.  
  
Some time later, the man stopped. She found herself in an abandoned alley, far from the man square. Movement in the shadows revealed half starved rats, whose red eyes gleamed ferally. Doors to deserted buildings waved desolately to her, their thin planks making thumping sounds as they hit the cracked mortar of decrepit walls. From these run-down shacks came a group of disreputable looking men. Come to think of it, that was the only sort of men she seemed to be meeting today... Miaka's guide smiled at her again, this time in a menacing, dangerous fashion.  
  
"We're here."  
  
"Um.... where's here?" she asked nervously, hoping she was missing something. A niggling suspicion was growing that she had been duped. The stench of stale urine brought back memories of the neighborhood she had grown up in. A neighborhood that had boasted more than its fair share of robberies, gang wars, drug deals, muggings, and otherwise unpleasant incidents. Though the argument could be made that was only to be expected in a ghetto, it didn't mean that she had enjoyed the situation.  
  
The next words of the men confirmed her fears.  
  
"Look at her clothes," one man said.  
  
"Clothes? Look at those legs. It should be a crime to have ones that nice," another man in blue put in.  
  
"Legs are all very nice, but look at those breasts! Is it true women traveling alone are looking for excitement?" A third man grabbed her as he asked. She punched him, but he just grinned and shrugged it off. Miaka was now backed against a wall with four men leering at her.  
  
"Great. A gang of thugs in Ancient...wherever. I can't believe I fell for the oldest trick in the book," Miaka groaned, crushed by her stupidity. Briefly, she found herself wishing her posse was there; Yui, Takiko, and Suzuno. No one had ever bothered the four girls more than once. Also, right about now, she could really use the back up.  
  
"All right," she said, turning to face the toughs with sudden authority. "You picked the wrong woman to mess with. Another time, I might have let you off with a mere warning, but it hasn't been my day." Maybe bluffing would work... "Now I'm pissed, so you're going to pay!"  
  
Hmm. They weren't leaving, nor did they look particularly intimidated. That wasn't good.  
  
"Oh, I'm quaking," one said in a mocking falsetto. "What's one little girl like you going to do to four big, strong men like us, all alone?"  
  
"All alone..." Her eyes widened and took on an unholy gleam. "That's right, I'm all alone in a strange city, possibly in another world. So that means..." She pushed her sleeves up and braced herself against the wall, "No police and no assault records!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Okay punks! You had your chance. Do you see this vaccination mark? In the name of heaven, it will punish you! Now for the battle cry; embrace death!" With her ferocious cry echoing off the walls, Miaka launched herself at the men.  
  
*************************  
  
"Suzaku's flaming tail," Tamahome swore to himself, half in disbelief, half in admiration, "That girl is crazy!"  
  
He watched the fight from the top of the wall he was casually perched on. If things got too bad, he would lend her a hand, of course - but as matters stood, he was interested in seeing how things worked out. He had never seen fighting like hers, and was willing to bet the gold he didn't have that neither had they. Come to think of it, he had never seen a girl fight, period. Most women could hire men to do it for them.  
  
That was hardly the only strange thing about her either. Instead of a skirt, she wore pants, with wide legs, cut out of some cloth he had never seen. The epithets she shouted as the men fell to her made his ears burn, and he was only half sure what they meant. What was a goat and how exactly did one go about...mating with one?  
  
"Huh. That was surprisingly easy," the girl said to herself, dusting off her hands as the last man collapsed. "I expected more of a fight. Well, whatever."  
  
As she bent down to tie her shoe, the hand of one of the fallen men snaked out and seized her ankle. She pivoted, wearing an expression of shock as he jerked her feet out from underneath her.  
  
Tamahome winced at her head's collision with a rock that left her stunned and helpless. Sympathy turned to fury as he saw what the man had in mind.  
  
Grabbing a rock from nearby, he hurled it at the man's head. Once he was certain he had gotten the man's attention, he stood, holding another. "Five men," he said coldly, punctuating each word with the slap of flesh on stone as he tossed and caught the rock, again and again. "Five men to handle one little girl? Why don't we make the odds more even?" He snatched the rock from midair and attacked.  
  
As they had many times in the past, man after man went down beneath his superior strength. Tamahome could feel the sign of the demon blazing on his forehead, giving him power and fueling his rage by serving to remind him of his difference.  
  
Only when the last man had gone did he turn to face the girl. She took his proffered arm with a look of confusion as he hauled her unceremoniously to her feet.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked gently.  
  
"Um, yeah. Thanks for saving me again." She blinked several times, eyes gaining clarity. Quit calmly, she drew back her fist and punched him in the stomach. "For future reference, I'm not a little girl, fruitcake. I'm twenty years old."  
  
Tamahome gaped at her. "Who are you?" he blurted out disbelievingly.  
  
"Miaka," she beamed. "And what's your name, Mr. Black-haired-hunk-with-a- demon-symbol? I've been looking for you all over, ya know."  
  
"I know. And my name's Tamahome. Now that you've found me, what do you want?"  
  
She stared at him, clearly at a loss.  
  
"That's what I thought. I don't suppose you've gotten any richer since last time? No? I didn't think so. Well, since you don't need me for anything, I'll just be going." He pulled loose from her grip and started sauntering away casually.  
  
"No wait - oh!"  
  
Tamahome turned just in time to catch her as her knees buckled. The delicate scent of strawberries filled his nostrils when he caught a mouthful of soft, auburn hair. She clutched the folds of his jacket until the vertigo receded. Then her heart began to thump, but not from the knock on her head, but because she was pressed against a well muscled man who smelled faintly of drakkar. Miaka inhaled delicately.  
  
"Umm...are you okay now?" She let go reluctantly and stared up at a pair of gorgeous purple eyes.  
  
It was on the tip of her tongue to answer in the affirmative, when sudden inspiration struck.  
  
"No," she replied, lower lip quivering slightly. "No, I'm not okay. I'm all alone and lost in a foreign country. And you you're the only one I can turn to. Please, help me." She put a quaver in her voice and looked up at him through long, velvety lashes, hopeful for a sign that her feminine wiles were having effect.  
  
He looked truly torn. Slowly, Miaka let two artistic tears roll down her cheeks. "Please?"  
  
"Look, I don't have the time or resources to spare messing around with a green recruit. I'm sorry, but you're on your own."  
  
"I'm on my own?!" She killed the waterworks abruptly. "What kind of crap is that? A girl is lost in a strange land and you don't care? It's your duty to help like a good citizen. It's your duty, dammit! Stop running! Stand up and be a man!"  
  
That stopped Tamahome in his tracks. He spun around, filled with righteous wrath.  
  
"How dare you tell me to stand up and be a man? A man gets paid for his work. Pay up or put out!"  
  
"What?!" Miaka screeched, her face turning an unbecoming shade of purple. She jumped on a packing crate and shouted in her best Brittany Spears imitation. "Help, oh help. This man is a slave trader and he's gonna sell me! Help!"  
  
"Slave trader?!"  
  
"Scum! Get away from that girl!"  
  
"Crook! Why are you bothering honest folk like us?!"  
  
"Derelict!"  
  
"Dirt bag!"  
  
"Ball-licking cum eater!"  
  
Everyone went dead silent and stared at Miaka.  
  
"Oops. I meant, you awful, awful man!"  
  
Housewives stood in their doorways; hiding children behind their skirts and throwing rotten fish heads at Tamahome. Attracted by the commotion, men began to pour into the street.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"That man's a slaver!"  
  
"Call the guards!"  
  
"Get my crossbow."  
  
"C'mon boys! Let's go get 'im!"  
  
"Holy shit!" He grabbed Miaka and ran from the area as fast as his feet could take him.  
  
"Are you going to help me now?" she asked from where he held her in his arms. "I could start spreading that slaver stuff again, ya know."  
  
"I am not a slave trader!" he panted.  
  
"I know."  
  
He stopped short and dropped her.  
  
"Ow, what was that for, bitch?" Miaka asked, rubbing her aching rump.  
  
"Hmm..... I don't know? Could it possibly have been for calling me a slaver? Why yes, I do believe it was."  
  
"Men get offended at the strangest things."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you going to let me come with you or not?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Fine, you can tag along for a little while, but only because I'm feeling benevolent," Tamahome said, trying (and failing to) muster up a lordly air. It came out cranky instead.  
  
"Yeah! Cool beans, yo!" Miaka jumped up and down excitedly, clapping her hands. He rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed by the scene she was making.  
  
"Are you done? I have to get to work."  
  
"Great." Suddenly Miaka was all business. "What do we do?"  
  
"We?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm your partner."  
  
"Whoa, stop right there." Tamahome held up a hand, forestalling any protest. "You are not my partner. You are my apprentice. Furthermore, you will remain my apprentice until you make your first major bust on your own."  
  
"Oh." Enthusiasm deflated a little, Miaka looked up at him with subdued eyes. "So, as your apprentice, what do I do first?"  
  
"Um...." Tamahome was stumped. This scenario had never really occurred to him. "I know! Wait for a cart that looks like it's coming pretty fast, and then jump in front of it. I'll save you in the nick of time and we can sue for mental distress."  
  
"Ooh, how eeevil. I love it!"  
  
**************************  
  
"Tamahome?" Miaka asked, drawing an exasperated sigh from him. God! Women were like puppies - feed 'em once and they follow you home.  
  
"You're still here?" he asked rudely. The plan had bombed - each and every cart had kept going.  
  
"Try not to let your enthusiasm overwhelm you," she returned dryly. "Anyway, I was just wondering, you know that blonde guy, the who tried to kidnap me? He mentioned a parade before luring me into the alley. Was he making it up or is there really one?"  
  
"How should I - no wait, never mind. I think he meant the procession for the emperor's middle son."  
  
"The emperor's middle son? Why does he get a parade? And how come it isn't for the emperor, or at least his eldest son? I don't understand."  
  
"Obviously," he muttered under his breath, then, with another sigh, began to explain.  
  
"There isn't a parade for the emperor because no one has seen him for as long as I've been in the city. Longer. About eight years ago he and his eldest son, the heir, disappeared. That left his next eldest bastard in charge. No one knows what happened to them for sure, but it's a safe bet they're still alive, since his other son is quite emphatic on the point that he is not emperor; he's just filling in until his father returns."  
  
"Did anyone ask the son what happened to the emperor?" Miaka asked, fascinated in spite of herself.  
  
"He was the first man they asked, but he never tells the same story twice about the emperor's whereabouts." Tamahome started to warm to the subject. "The original version was that he was out contemplating the state of his soul for a certain amount of time, but once the time period had passed, the stories started getting more interesting. One goes that he's off rescuing P.O.W.'s from Vietnam. Another is that he's made it his quest to save all bunnies from their natural predators and then plans to implement the grateful fauna into important governmental positions. Then, there's always the one that some noble peer insulted his flexibility, and he mistook the comment to be referring to his physical condition, rather than mental. In a fit of rage, he supposedly took off, vowing not to return until he could eat with his toes...."  
  
"I've heard that trying to eat with your toes is dangerous," Miaka put in solemnly. "I don't know from first hand experience, mind you, but I heard you can knock yourself out trying."  
  
"Obviously not first hand experience," he agreed blandly. "We're here, Miaka."  
  
The stood before a run-down building that must have been impressive in its heyday. It stood two stories high, a decrepit relic, now only a shadow of its former glory. Its elegant plaster mold was worn into shapelessness by time and the elements now. Cheap paint was peeling off the side of the rickety walls and where the windows weren't cracked, they were made of thick panes of flawed, bubbly glass. A faded sign, showing a naked woman dancing among grapes, hung crookedly over the doorway.  
  
From the inside, shouts of merriment could be heard. Tamahome rapped on the door in three staccato notes. After a long pause, a grate set within it opened.  
  
"Yes?" a voice crackled. Miaka could barely make out a face in the dim red light that illuminated the outside.  
  
"It's Tamahome," he replied. "I have a guest."  
  
The grate shut, and after another long pause, in which Miaka could hear someone fumbling with locks, the door swung open. "Tama! Why didn't you say so? Come in and bring your pretty friend."  
  
The light of the room dazzled Miaka at first, but her vision soon cleared. The first thing she noticed was the lanterns. There was one at every table, it seemed, and at least one customer to occupy them. Men sat drinking ale, either alone or in company. Attractive women flitted about, scanty clothing covered by silken robes that fell to the floor. The light cast by the lanterns shone through the thin cloth, revealing graceful silhouettes that left little to the imagination. She wondered at that, until it occurred to her the effect was deliberate. That was when she realized what kind of establishment this was, precisely.  
  
"This is the common room," Tamahome explained in a murmur, taking her elbow and guiding her to an empty table. "The business quarters are upstairs."  
  
"Eew, you brought me to a brothel! What kind of girl do you think I am?"  
  
"No, no! I live here!"  
  
Miaka surveyed the threadbare state of his wardrobe. "Isn't that a little expensive?" she voiced dubiously.  
  
"No," he repeated earnestly. "I live above here. Besides," he put in an afterthought, "They think I'm gay."  
  
"And why would they think that?"  
  
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I found a guy who wasn't bashful about it and kissed him in a public area, where news would spread fast. I also make it a point to be seen periodically with notorious male prostitutes."  
  
She could gather from his offhand manner that such relationships didn't carry the stigma that they did in Japan. She started to relax a little, until she recalled his comment from earlier; 'pay up or put out.' If he lived above a bordello, it was quite possible that he was serious... "Well are you?"  
  
"Am I what?" he asked, clearly puzzled.  
  
"Gay."  
  
"Oh. No, I just let them think so. It slashed my rent down to practically nothing, since the madam was sure I wasn't going to be 'sampling the wares.' I get to eat here for free, provided I stand guard duty, three nights a week. There hasn't been a client yet who I can't handle if they get too rowdy."  
  
Hmm....free food, eh? Well, if that wasn't reason to stay with him, what was?  
  
"One problem though; if you're supposed to be gay, what am I doing with you?"  
  
"Oh." He frowned in concentration and snapped his fingers. "I know! You can be my partner's little sister. You know, my partner."  
  
"Once again; what am I doing here?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. I'll just tell them that you're looking into the trade and are staying with me to get a better idea of what it's like."  
  
A long silence prevailed. "Miaka?" Tamahome broke in tentatively. "Miaka, what's the matter?" He looked at her face, which was slowly turning apoplectic. Divining her thoughts, he explained hastily. "It's a perfectly respectable trade you know. It's rated with being, oh say, a musician or an artist. Besides, you won't actually have to serve upstairs."  
  
Her color gradually turned back to more normal shades. "Okay," she agreed brightly.  
  
Tamahome was relieved, and a little puzzled it had been so easy to pacify her. What he had seen of Miaka's temper today had convinced him that it was formidable when roused, and right now, he wanted to go to bed without collecting any more bruises for the day. Bruises he would have earned as sure as the sun rose if his new apprentice had thought he had insulted her.  
  
'My new apprentice,' he thought in wonder. He had never even considered taking one, but here he was. There was just something about her, that infuriating as she was, he couldn't help liking. She was a bright kid, this might even turn out to be an equally profitable venture.  
  
Mind at ease, he leaned back, intent on enjoying the music of their house minstrel, Eden. She wasn't a bad one either and he was just starting to relax, when a thought occurred to him that made him sit up straight.  
  
'Where am I going to put her? I don't have any clean sheets.'  
  
***********************  
  
Miaka woke up the next morning with a ray of sunlight streaming in her face. "Wha -" she asked, rubbing her eyes blearily. Then it all came back to her. She was in Tamahome's flat, the cute, greedy punk she had won an apprenticeship to the day before. Propping herself up on one arm, she surveyed the room that she now lived in.  
  
Tamahome slept on a pallet the floor next to her, arm thrown over his eyes and snoring loudly. Dirty laundry was tossed in all corners over the room, probably waiting to be washed until he had run out of clean outfits. There wasn't much room for walking, and even less for standing. Dishes, with stew from several weeks ago encrusted on them, were in a tottering stack to the side. The sole blanket of the room, a grimy, smelly affair was draped over her shoulders. The floor was almost clean, giving testimony that he, on rare occasions, made some marginal effort to being toward cleanliness. But only marginal. In short, he was a slob. Miaka immediately felt at home.  
  
Rolling out of bed, she pulled on her boots and stomped downstairs to the smell of savory porridge. A dozen women lounging about the table greeted her with cheerful greetings and cries of welcome. Food was pressed into her hands and she was ushered over to the bench. As soon as she was sitting, she was bombarded with questions.  
  
"So your Tamahome's new room mate?"  
  
"Isn't he a sweetie?"  
  
"How did you meet?"  
  
Between mouthfuls, she outlined the story they had decided on.  
  
"Yeah," one girl put in. "He's so sweet that I would have known he was gay even if he hadn't told us."  
  
Remembering what Tamahome had told her the night before, Miaka decided to embellish on his reputation. "Oh yeah, he is definitely the gayest man I've ever met," she agreed emphatically. "Why, yesterday alone, I saw him kiss seven different men. He's really a whore. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she amended quickly, smoothing out their angry expressions into more pleasant ones. "It's not that he's a whore, it's that he's a slut."  
  
Just then, Tamahome came down. "You ready, Miaka?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"Yep! See ya later girls." Bounding to her feet, she followed him out into the early morning light.  
  
"So, what's first, Boss?"  
  
"First we go to the market area and scout any prosperous looking customers."  
  
"What do we sell?"  
  
"Anything," he returned promptly. "But for now, it's more a question of what these fine folk can give us."  
  
"Um, are we talking like pick-pocketing?"  
  
"Pretty much," he agreed. "In the mean while, anything you want to know?"  
  
"Yeah, what in great good god's name is that?!" Miaka had jumped up on his back before he even had time to turn.  
  
"What?" He looked at the animal she was pointing at in bafflement. "That's a horse."  
  
"But, but - it has tusks!"  
  
"Yeah. Your point..." his voice trailed off.  
  
"It has tusks," she repeated again slowly.  
  
"All horses do."  
  
"What about the whole girls love ponies image?"  
  
Tamahome looked at her, amazement painted clearly on his features. "Are you crazy? I wouldn't let a girl near a bloodthirsty, carnivorous animal like that."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Gradually the conversation turned to a more neutral ground; politics.  
  
"Wait, let me get this straight. There are more noble women, yet it's the men that rule?"  
  
"Yeah," Tamahome said with a shrug. "I know it's strange, but nobility has always been set in tradition. Out here on the streets it's equal, but in the higher classes things get more restricting. Really, the nobility has a lot of strange beliefs the rest of don't share. We might as well be different species for all we have in common."  
  
"Like what?" Their convoluted social structure was fascinating.  
  
"Well, take the prostitution thing. It's considered an honest trade out here and a legitimate way to improve your status, but try to suggest that a lady do that...sit back and watch the fireworks. Then there's more. Out here, a man makes his reputation by his skill and merit, but up they're proper birth is all that matters."  
  
"What's considered the proper birth?"  
  
"In wedlock, for one. You have to have two parents of the same station - I pity the man who tries to marry above his class. Really, the only reason this prince is keeping the throne is because he's so firm on the point that he doesn't want to be emperor. If he tried to make the situation permanent, he'd probably be hauled up to trial on some trumped up charge and undergo a slow and painful execution. It'd serve as a warning to those who would try to rise above their birth. If the affair wasn't public, then tickets would probably sold to an exclusive audience of those willing to blow a small fortune on their sick little amusements."  
  
Miaka shivered. A cloud suddenly seemed to have come between her and the warmth of the sun. "Why don't you tell me more of those emperor stories," she suggested.  
  
Brightening visibly, Tamahome launched into another; eager to share his hobby with one that had a willing ear.  
  
"There's always the one that he's lining the royal coffers with illegal bootlegging..."  
  
**************************  
  
Tamahome saw how badly he had disturbed Miaka and kept the conversation to cheerful topics, so not to upset her further. Soon, he had her in tears from laughter, former worries forgotten. It seemed he couldn't recall a time when she hadn't been by his side, tagging along in his marketing ventures. She was a natural thief if he had ever saw one. Somehow, that didn't surprise him.  
  
"What do you think happened to the emperor, Tamahome?"  
  
"Common sentiment on the street is that he ran away. A little before he left, Kutou, the neighboring empire started making hostile advances toward Konan. Suzaku knows that he wasn't exactly renown for his stalwart courage." He edged closer to a particularly heavy looking purse.  
  
"Where's Konan?"  
  
He turned to her in shock, purse forgotten. "This is Konan, you idiot. This empire. Where did you think you were?"  
  
"I don't know," she said with a helpless shrug. "That's why I needed your help. You see, I'm not here by choice." She sat down on a crate, and in a faltering voice poured out her story.  
  
"I was sitting at my computer-"  
  
"What's a computer?"  
  
"It's a machine where you can go on the Internet through."  
  
"What's the Internet?"  
  
"It's a place where everyone knows each other, but never meet." A long, confused silence ensued.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind. Well, anyway, I was on the Internet and I misspelled the topic I was looking for - "  
  
"Wait, you can write?" A calculating gleam entered Tama's eyes, as another set of marketable skills came into his already impressive repertoire.  
  
"Yeah. Well anyway, I was looking at a website - "  
  
"What's a website? Some kind of trap set by a spider monster?"  
  
"Uh, yeah."  
  
"That's pretty cool." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, when she remembered the horses. Suddenly she didn't want to know.  
  
"Well anyway, a gold light came out of the monitor-"  
  
"What's a monitor?"  
  
"Shut up and let me finish!" she shouted. He fell into a temporary, pouty silence. "Thank you. Now, as I was saying, a gold light came from the monitor, and the next thing I knew, I was in the clearing where you found me."  
  
"Wow. That's pretty messed up."  
  
"You insensitive jerk!" Miaka barely had the heart to punch him, she was so upset. "I'll never see Yui or Suzuno or Takiko again. I'll never get yelled at by my landlord for rent being three weeks late. I'll never have a shower or a soda again!"  
  
"What's soda?"  
  
"Why you -" Her fist's descent on Tamahome's head was stopped midair. "Where'd you get that ring?" she asked with interest. He peeked out from behind his arms that he had raised to fend off her blows.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The ring on your finger," she repeated impatiently.  
  
"This?" A golden band glittered on his ring finger. "They're issued by the empire. Every man has one."  
  
"Like a tagging system?"  
  
"I guess so. What's a shower?"  
  
She raised a fist again, only to be forestalled once again by Tamahome's deft questioning. "Are you hungry?"  
  
"Whoa. It's like you're reading my mind."  
  
"Cuz there's so much there to read," he muttered.  
  
"What was that?" she asked sweetly.  
  
"Uh, how's Cajun?"  
  
***************************  
  
Miaka awoke every morning with anticipation now. She was eager to see what the day would bring at Tamahome's side. Every day, she learned something new.  
  
"Today, I will teach you about the fine art of mugging people," her mentor said grandiosely. "First, you choose a likely quarry in an abandoned place."  
  
So that was how they had spent the last three hours, haunting alleys and waiting for a profitable subject to pass their way. Now, finally, one had come into view.  
  
Tamahome put on a skier's mask and handed one to Miaka. "This is one of the stupid young lords who think they are immune to the accidents that befall so many of his kind. Look, he thinks he's incognito as a commoner, but his clothing is much too fine, not to mention the fact that he still hasn't dropped the insufferable arrogance common to his breed. You can practically see worthless bum written across his face. More importantly to us, you can see rich, worthless bum written on his face. Watch me."  
  
Tamahome slid across the cracked walls, dark clothing blending in perfectly with the shadows. Following suit, Miaka watched in admiration as he came up behind the man and hit him on the back of the head with a brick. Extracting rope from somewhere, Tamahome trussed him up like a pig and began to search him for valuables. The man was made of sterner stuff than he had expected though, for halfway through, he woke up.  
  
"Face me like a man!" he bellowed angrily. "I could kill you both with one hand tied behind my back!"  
  
"Doubtful," Tamahome said cheerfully. "But in the off chance that you could, I took the liberty of tying both of your hands behind your back, as well as your feet together."  
  
His face grew apoplectic. "Have you no honor?!"  
  
"You know," he replied in a conversational tone, "Honor is a funny word. Some would say that disobeying your father and sneaking off to go drink with your buddies in a common tavern is dishonorable. After all, doesn't Confucius stress familial piety?" He cut off the man's purse and hefted it thoughtfully in his hand as he spoke. "Now, others may say that robbing a spoiled little well-born brat of his spending money is dishonorable, but me, well I prefer to think of it as a favor to society, a redistribution of resources, if you will. And though I may sit in this alley, stealing all of the worldly possessions you have on you, I never disobeyed my daddy. And which one of is being robbed, hmm? In fact, if you think about it, I'm doing you a favor. Having no cash, you can't possibly go out drinking or whoring or whatever you were planning on doing that was probably expressly against parental permission. So I'm saving you from carrying a sin on your conscience. You should thank me."  
  
"Give me my sword! I'll cut you all to pieces! I'll kill you -"  
  
"With one hand tied behind your back, yes we know," Miaka said with a sigh. "I assure you, if either of us wanted to face you like a man, we would have done so by now. Feel free to speak up if you have any original thoughts."  
  
He gaped at her, looking for all the world like a stranded fish. Opening his mouth, he let out a roar of sheer rage.  
  
"Gag him," Tamahome ordered curtly. "Someone might notice." He paused. "Wait, do you know how to gag someone?"  
  
She bestowed on him a withering look. "Of course I know how to gag someone. I've babysat before."  
  
"Good. Now you mentioned a sword, yes? That'll fetch a pretty penny at the pawn shop."  
  
Only when they had searched him over for the third time was Tamahome satisfied that he hadn't missed anything.  
  
"You did good, kid," he said to Miaka. Turning to their captive, he extended a hand and shook his tied one firmly. "Thank you sir, it was a pleasure doing business. If you tell anyone that you were mugged sneaking out to go whoring, you'll be like a true incompetent ass, so I advise against it. I'll be taking back my ropes for future use, but first, I'm sure you'll understand if we don't let you stay awake for that event. Please, feel free to come back this way anytime." Lifting a heavy board, he brought it back down again on the man's head.  
  
"And that, was a mugging."  
  
*********************  
  
"Yeah, that was fun," Miaka said gleefully. "Let's do it again!"  
  
"Sure, but later. I'm starving." Tamahome stretched and started strolling out toward the common area. "Beating people up and robbing them always makes me hungry."  
  
Never adverse to the thought of food, Miaka fell in stride beside him. "Tamahome, what makes you different from a bandit?"  
  
He stopped short and by the expression he wore, Miaka could tell she had hit upon a sore spot. "I'm different from a bandit because bandits are stupid," he said fiercely. "They ambush people, beat them up and take their money. I ambush them; beat them up and take their money while wearing a ski mask. They could never stroll into town without being lynched up by everyone they've ever mugged. I, on the other hand, can go anywhere with impunity.  
  
"They all live in one place, which makes them easier to hunt down and wipe out. If I were to form a crime organization like that, I would keep everyone separate, so if they found and killed one, all the other members would be safe.  
  
"Bandits are dirty. Bandits are hicks. Bandits smell. But you know what the worst thing about bandits is? Women aren't allowed. It's an all boy's club."  
  
"Why Tama, that's very open minded of -"  
  
"Who's going to cook and clean for them? Their home must be a sty," he continued, oblivious to the respect he had almost won.  
  
"Strange words, coming from you," she said dryly, thinking back on their shared home.  
  
"Bandits are worse than me," he said positively.  
  
"Let's get some food."  
  
*********************  
  
Tamahome rolled over on his stomach and looked at the clock. It was one in the morning and more than his stiffening bruises were keeping him awake. He had earned them in a scuffle the previous day and playing the affair over in his mind, he was troubled.  
  
"Miaka?" he whispered softly. "Are you awake?"  
  
She rolled over on her side and met his eyes. "Yeah Tamahome?"  
  
"There's something I have to tell you that I've never told anyone else before, ever."  
  
Her heart sped up and rose to her throat. 'He's going to tell me he loves me,' she thought joyfully. 'He's going to tell me he can't live without me and then he's going to sweep me up in his well muscled arms and -'  
  
"I think I'm a sadist."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think I'm a sadist," he repeated patiently. "Today, when we were fighting, I found myself...enjoying it."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"What did you think I was going to say?" He sounded honestly puzzled.  
  
"I'm going back to sleep."  
  
"No, I really want to know."  
  
"Goodnight Tamahome."  
  
*********************  
  
The next lesson was on robbery of the snatch and run style.  
  
On the way to the ever popular market, several women called their young sons inside and averted their faces from Tamahome. After the fifth such incident, he was puzzled and annoyed. He was pretty sure Miaka was involved somehow, though. Then, in a flash of insight, the sly, sidelong glances from the girls back at the brothel fell into place.  
  
"Miaka," he asked mildly. "What did you tell them?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You know who."  
  
"No?"  
  
"Did you tell everyone I was promiscuous?"  
  
"I thought your reputation could use a little polishing."  
  
"Bad girl. Promise not to do it again."  
  
A stranger saved Miaka from making any promises she might actually have to keep. He pulled on Tamahome's sleeve.  
  
"Hey, aren't you that slaver?"  
  
"Uh, no. No I'm not."  
  
He grabbed Miaka's arm and sped his walk up to a trot.  
  
Turning around, she caught the man's eye and started mouthing noticeably, "Yes he is. Help me."  
  
"Guards!"  
  
"Holy crap!" They made it to the market at a run. Panting, Tamahome pointed out her target - a little old lady's purse.  
  
"Her?" Miaka asked, aghast. "But she's like eighty. That could be her entire life's savings."  
  
"It's also your supper." Before he had time to blink, Miaka had punched the lady, and was running away clutching the purse triumphantly, shouting, "You don't need to eat anymore! You're gonna die soon anyway!"  
  
Tamahome surveyed the fruits of her labor with interest.  
  
"Anything good?" She wondered idly.  
  
"Umm.... crumpled tissues...old, dusty Lifesavers.... and two gold coins! Good job!"  
  
"Can I have the Lifesavers?"  
  
***************************  
  
"Tamahome, do I have any clean underwear out there?" Miaka called from behind the changing screen. He looked up briefly from the pile of coins he was counting.  
  
"Dunno and I refuse to do the smell test for any that's not mine."  
  
"Spoilsport," she muttered. Several minutes later, she crawled out, fully clothed. "Tamahome, how come I don't get any of the profits?"  
  
"You don't get any of my profits cuz you're my 'prentice," he explained without looking up. "You're my 'prentice til -"  
  
"I make my first big bust on my own, yeah I got that. I've been living with you six months now. What do you say I try today?"  
  
"Today?" He looked up, interest caught. "What do you have in mind? It'll have to be big, ya know -" his tone turned warning. "I won't settle for anything less."  
  
Miaka simply gave a mysterious smile. "You'll see. And trust me - it'll be big enough even for you." Standing up abruptly, she grabbed his coat and bounded toward the door. "C'mon. I feel the need to stretch my legs."  
  
Miffed, he followed.  
  
******************  
  
It was a beautiful day out. The sun was bright and shining, a pleasant breeze stirred, and the scent of money was in the air. Of course, the scent of money was always in the air, provided you had the right kind of nose for it. A nose like Tamahome's and like the one Miaka was soon going to prove to him she also had.  
  
Linking her arm casually in his, she strolled to the center square. Cheerfully whistling a strain of "Wanted Dead Or Alive" by Bon Jovi, she kept her eyes peeled for the first sight of the emperor's parade.  
  
It was hard to miss. Colorful, not to say tacky, banners shouted royal presence from a mile away. Acrobats and jugglers preceded the actual emperor, and by Miaka's way of thinking, provided the better show. Huge elephants that looked like the ones she was familiar with cleared the crowd. A hundred guards, all in dress uniform, surrounded and carried the emperor's palanquin, a large gaudy affair decorated entirely in gold. The procession occurred at the beginning of every month to pacify the need for pomp of...someone.  
  
Releasing her grip on Tamahome's arm, she slipped off into the crowd and started edging closer to the emperor. Warily eyeing over the guards, she counted silently to ten. Then she struck. Flying from guard to big fat guard, she kicked out all of their knees. As they fell to the ground, she charged the palanquin with a flying leap. Remembering everything she had ever learned in long jump during track, she tucked her legs up, grabbed anything she could as she went hurtling through, and landed safely on her feet.  
  
Not waiting to see the reaction, she sprinted off to the back streets she was so at home with now and soon lost them. Blood was pounding in her ears and adrenaline surged through her body. At the sound of footsteps she pivoted, knife held ready, but there was no need; it was only Tamahome.  
  
"Dear god, I hope that was worth it. Are you crazy? What did you get?" Questions flew out of his mouth as fast as he could find air to utter them.  
  
She held up her richly gleaming prize. It was the emperor's crown.  
  
Tamahome stared, dumbfounded. Silently he offered his hand.  
  
"Welcome aboard partner." 


	2. To Prove Tamahome Wrong

-1-  
  
Hotohori strove to keep the boredom/irritation he felt from becoming too obvious on his face. It wouldn't do to alienate this man. He was an important member of the nobility, and as such was to be treated with the utmost respect. Even if he didn't see fit to return the courtesy to a man scarcely older than his sons...  
  
"Look boy," the man said condescendingly. "Why don't you run and fetch your father?"  
  
He counted to ten slowly under his breath. "I am afraid that is not possible," he replied smoothly.  
  
"Why not? Where is he?" His tone became wheedling. "Surely you can tell me the truth."  
  
Inwardly, he began to grin. This was his favorite part of being emperor - destroying every shred of credibility his father possessed. They said revenge was a dish best served cold. This particular meal had just spent the last eight years in an icebox. Very well, since this man insisted on treating him like an imbecile, he would answer in kind.  
  
He leaned forward earnestly, eyes going wide with childlike innocence and eagerness. "Do not tell anyone else," he began in a conspiratorial whisper, "But he is out making the biggest ball of string in the world!"  
  
The man paled. Hotohori had put just enough enthusiasm in his voice that he wasn't quite sure if he was serious. And if he didn't know, well who was he to enlighten him?  
  
"Um...yes. Well then, I just remembered that I have, uh, important affairs, um, of estate to tend to. With all due respect, Majesty, I'll just be going...." Bobbing his head repeatedly in obeisance, he turned and all but ran from the room.  
  
'Yes, that's right. If you nod your head and back away slowly, maybe the crazy prince won't come after you.' He felt his lips curve in amusement at the man's very obvious thoughts. After playing the part of emperor pro tempore for so many years he could read people as easily as a book. Though, in general, he preferred the books. They tended to treat him with less contempt.  
  
"Is that all?" he asked the servant beside him. At the man's nodded he smiled and murmured thanks. While a bastard couldn't be much else in this society, he could be polite.  
  
"In that case, I declare formal court to be at an end." His voice carried clearly to all corners of the Great Hall without him actually having to raise it. Standing unhurriedly, he strolled out into the corridors of the palace with no further fanfare. Of course, all the noble courtiers would linger several hours more, hatching plots among themselves to further their own power. He'd probably have to deal with half of their idiotic schemes before the month was out, but for now that needn't concern him. He could go settle down with some well earned . . . paperwork.  
  
Safe behind the heavy oaken doors of his bedroom now, he let out a weary sigh. If ten years ago, someone had asked him what he had thought he would be doing now, this situation would never have come up. Aspiring to be emperor was utter lunacy, what with an heir born in wedlock and all. After the first month his father had vanished, he had reason to be glad there was no chance of this ever becoming a career. He'd have gone a stark, raving mad if he actually had to rule permanently. As it stood, things were bad enough.  
  
'Suzaku, I don't know who's worse - the sneering nobles or the ones who treat me like I really am emperor.'  
  
He peeled off his silken shirt and shrugged into a lighter, less gaudy, cotton one. 'It's probably the women,' he decided, pulling on a pair of thigh-high leather boots. 'Always throwing themselves at me, shameless as a bitch in heat. Never thinking where'd they be if my father actually does come back.'  
  
He winced at the wording of his thoughts. If? After so long, even he was starting to doubt the return of his royal sire. Irrational anger seized him. He needed that hope, dammit! Without it, he could become resigned to the situation and wind up ruling in his father's stead for the rest of his life. That was a thought too horrible to contemplate.  
  
'Enough work for today,' he told himself, squashing the fear ruthlessly. 'One evening off can't possibly hurt anything.'  
  
Standing up, Hotohori surveyed his image in the sheet of polished metal he kept for such purposes. Taller than most commoners at 6"2, he towered over his inbred noble peers. Light brown hair, worn unfashionably long, was tied back loosely by a simple leather thong. Nonetheless, strands persisted on escaping, framing a face an angel might envy. His warm golden eyes, whose stare was so disconcertingly direct, appraised the picture he formed. His fine clothes of silk and velvet had been shed in favor of something that a man of the upper middle class might sport.  
  
'Not bad,' he decided critically. 'Now as long as I remember to speak like a commoner, I just might be able to pass scrutiny.' Merchants didn't care where coin came from, so long as it was real.  
  
Feeling a great deal more cheerful, he headed to the back way out.  
  
'Now if only my guards let me past....'  
  
-2-  
  
Miaka slipped her shoes on as silently as she could and crept by her sleeping partner. Image the nerve of Tamahome, the stupid jerk, to suggest that her first major success in theft was good fortune! It took more than dumb luck to steal the emperor's crown off of his head; it took skill.  
  
Though he had apologized for the words said in the heat of the argument, she still seethed at the injustice of the comment. Sure, so there had been one or two accidents after their initial partnership, but really! Well she'd show him. No one could pull off robbing the palace who wasn't a highly skilled thief, and that was what she aimed to do.  
  
His snores covered the soft click of the door shutting behind her. Getting down the staircase was torture, each creak setting her nerves on edge. Not that it particularly mattered - the ladies of the brothel wouldn't care if she snuck off in the middle of the night. They'd probably think that she had a tryst arranged with a secret lover. Still, it never hurt to be circumspect. One might see her and alert Tamahome to her absence.  
  
After so many months with Tamahome, finding her way through the streets was as easy as navigating her room. Easier, in fact - there weren't large mounds of laundry obstructing her path here.  
  
The palace rose up in front of her like something from a fairy tale. White marble walls, bathed in moonlight, shimmered with an otherworldly aura. From behind the thick wall, tall, graceful spires peaked out, rising high into the night sky. The palace itself was also done in immaculate white marble, and between the two, the effect was almost blinding. Personally, she thought it was a pretty stupid choice of stone. From what she remembered of Earth Science, marble had a hardness of practically nothing and scratched at a pin drop. Still, she was an art major and the effect wasn't entirely lost on her. But pretty wouldn't pay the rent - unless it was pretty and gold.  
  
Tossing a grappling hook to the top of the wall, she hauled herself up by the power off her arms. Flattening herself on the top, she looked of the edge. She was utterly stunned. The walls had only hinted at what lay inside. Acres of cultivated gardens sprawled as far as the eye could see. Up against the building's wall, artistic ponds and sparkling waterfalls had been designed. The first thought that came to her was utterly irrelevant. 'Imagine the flies attracted there in the summer.' The second was more pertinent.  
  
"How am I ever going to find my way around there?" She quailed at the sheer size of it and would have gone back right then, if not for her own lingering anger at Tamahome. She had sworn to do this, if only to herself, and she always kept her word. Taking a deep breath, she slid down the side of the wall into the palace complex.  
  
If sneaking out of home made Miaka jumpy, it was nothing compared to wandering around the palace. She couldn't have said how long she roamed the dark halls aimlessly before the light caught her eye. It was rather conspicuous, spilling out from under a shut door. Cautiously, she cracked it open to reveal an empty room. Puzzled, she slipped in and took a good look around. It was a decent size, with shelves of books lining the walls. At the center stood a large desk, its surfaced cluttered by papers. On it stood a candle, burning brightly. A dummy sat in the chair, casting a shadow that appeared to be of a man bent over his books. Miffed, she shut the door and stepped back into the hall.  
  
The jingle of chain mail gave her just enough warning to flatten herself against the wall and try to look inconspicuous. A troop of men came trotting by the door. They looked about keenly, as if searching for particularly elusive prey.  
  
"We know you're here!" the leader shouted. "You can't hide!"  
  
'Me,' she thought, a lump rising in her throat. 'Me. They're looking for me.' Blind panic seized her and she began to run.  
  
-3-  
  
"Shit," Hotohori swore vehemently to himself. "Why did all the guards have to pick now to suddenly become competent?"  
  
He plastered himself against one of the pillars the original palace architects had been so fond of. Holding very still, he didn't breathe until the contingent had passed him by. With a sigh of relief, he dropped to a stalking crawl. Every few minutes he paused, uncertain that the shrubbery really would conceal his movement. Guards were supposed to be trained in looking for assassins; he didn't want to be mistaken for an intruder and accidentally shot. Or maybe not so accidentally - more than one of them had to be in the pay of enemies.  
  
"We know you're here! Come out, Your Majesty and we can forget this entire incident."  
  
Like hell they would. He was going to get his evening off if it killed him. With grim determination he continued forward. There was some fumbling and cursing, when suddenly a fire flared.  
  
They brought out the searchlights, he realized with a sinking stomach. He was in for it now. Slowly, inexorably, the beam of light cast by the lanterns swept over the terrain, closer to his hiding spot. Frozen with indecision, he waited until the moment right before it reached him to act.  
  
Cursing his own poor luck, he vaulted over the bush he hid behind and rolled down the hill it was perched on, towards the palace.  
  
"I think I saw him!" someone shouted.  
  
With a muttered oath that he wasn't supposed to know, he sprinted across the hill as swiftly and silently as he could manage. Scanning frantically for a hiding spot, he ducked into the shrine at the center of the palace and slammed the bolt into place. Exhausted, he slumped to the ground and closed his eyes. He was exactly where he didn't want to be - trapped in the palace.  
  
A strangled noise made him look up. He wasn't alone. In the room with him was a short, curvy woman, wearing outlandish clothing. Large green eyes peered out at him from beneath a tangle of auburn curls.  
  
"Are you breaking in too?" she asked in a friendly tone, cocking her head to the side.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Well, you looked like you were running away and I figured that a resident of this palace wouldn't have to, so I thought you were breaking in, trying to rob the place." He blinked, trying to follow her sentence, which had been spoken in a breathless rush.  
  
She gave a warm smile and held out her hand, without waiting for a reply. "I'm Miaka Yuuki."  
  
Unable to resist her infectious grin, he found himself shyly returning the smile. Taking her hand he bowed and kissed it. "My name is Hotohori, though I am not always called that."  
  
"So are you breaking in?" she repeated.  
  
"Umm..." He found himself tongue-tied. Something about this Miaka drew him irresistibly, and while he wanted to spend more time in her company, he couldn't if he told her who she really was.  
  
She mistook the cause of his hesitation. "Don't worry," she said, with a warm laugh. "I won't tell anyone. I'm breaking in here myself."  
  
"Very well," he lied with his most charming smile, "You've figured me out. I was planning on robbing the place, but someone tipped off the guards, as you have doubtless heard."  
  
She nodded in agreement. "I hate to waste a night, but I suppose getting out alive is more important . . . Merciful man parts! Hotohori, help me drag that out."  
  
He looked at what she pointed. A statue of a phoenix, claw extended for attack, met his eye. "That? But, it's the statue of Suzaku!"  
  
"It's also made up of pure gold and jewels," she pointed out with a greedy gleam in her eyes. "We could make a killing off of it! Split the profit, seventy-thirty, the extra twenty for me since it's my idea."  
  
"Fifty-fifty," he responded automatically.  
  
"Fine," she agreed promptly, "But the price of melting it down comes from your half of the profits."  
  
He gave her an odd look. "I wasn't actually serious. It's a holy relic - you can't melt it down. It's also the centerpiece of Suzaku's shrine."  
  
She sat down next to him. "What's a Suzaku? Tamahome keeps mentioning it."  
  
"Who's Tamahome?"  
  
"My partner."  
  
"Oh." Hotohori gave her a considering look. "How can you grow up in Konan without knowing who Suzaku is?"  
  
She shrugged. "I never heard of Konan until eight months ago, when I came here from my world."  
  
His head shot up and he stared at her. "Your world? Do you mean you are from another world entirely?"  
  
She looked downcast. "Shoot. Now you'll think I'm crazy. But, strange as it sounds, yes."  
  
He smoothed his expression into one of mild interest. "I'd love to here about it sometime," he said sincerely. "But in the meanwhile, Suzaku is the guardian deity of this Konan. There is one for each empire..."  
  
A pounding on the door interrupted him. "Open up!" came the muffled shout. "We know you're in there!"  
  
"Oh my God," Miaka hissed, clutching his arm. "We have to get out of here." Privately, he couldn't agree more. "Do you know where those air ducts lead?"  
  
"What?" He looked up to the narrow vents she indicated. "Oh. Umm...I think they end up under one of the ornamental ponds around the side of the palace."  
  
"No choice. Give me a boost up Hotohori. I'll pull you up after."  
  
Slightly mystified, he tossed her up high enough that she could catch hold of the side. True to her word, she turned around and offered her hands. He looked at her dubiously; she didn't appear that strong. Shaking his head in negation, he jumped up and caught the edge of the vent. With arms made strong by years of sword practice, he hauled himself up after her.  
  
"Let's go," he whispered.  
  
Their timing could not have cut it any closer. Just as he pulled himself in, the guards finally beat down the door. Seeing the grate on the ground, they (miraculously) came to the right conclusion.  
  
"He's in the air ducts!" Try as they might, none of them could fit their stomachs in to follow them. It was a tight enough squeeze for Hotohori; his shoulders were black with bruises from every bump in the passage.  
  
Ahead of him, Miaka let out a scream of terror. Red light flared from her, leaving behind a pile of ashes where a rat had been.  
  
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry you had to - wait, how are you still alive?"  
  
For his part, Hotohori was staring at her. "Priestess of Suzaku...."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Uh...nothing. What was that?"  
  
"It was my little red death ray. It kicks in whenever I'm in danger. I saw a rat," she explained sheepishly. "I hate rats." Her look turned puzzled. "Usually it fries people, but it didn't work on Tamahome or you. Maybe all it kills now is rats."  
  
He gave a sardonic grin. "You could always hire yourself out as an exterminator."  
  
Miaka brightened visibly. "Yeah! You know, I should charge the palace for that."  
  
They crawled on further in silence, but he didn't care. He had more than enough to occupy his thoughts. 'I'm crawling through the air ducts of my palace with the Priestess of Suzaku, who is terrified of rodents and has the subsequent power to vaporize them, or anyone else she should choose. Guards are shouting beneath me, hitting the ceiling with a broom in an attempt to scare me loose. The probability of me getting a night out is slim and fading fast. Eventually, I'm going to wind up on the bottom of a freezing cold lake. I have never had so much fun in my life.'  
  
He collided into Miaka as the girl came to an abrupt halt.  
  
"I'm not leaving without something," she said firmly in response to his unspoken question. "I think this is the emperor's chambers, but if not, it'll do anyway."  
  
"It is," he replied with authority.  
  
"Good. Lower me down." Shaking his head at his own insanity, he did as she directed. She looked a little disappointed as she surveyed the room. "You'd think the emperor could have nicer stuff."  
  
"Maybe he does not like being surrounded by reminders of his position," he suggested delicately.  
  
She snorted in contempt. "That's nothing like what Tamahome said nobles are like. He said they enjoy knowing they're rich and powerful and they enjoy making everyone else know that too."  
  
He was heartily sick of this Tamahome, and he had never even met the man. "We do not have much time to - what are you doing?" She held a penknife and was sawing at one of his imperial robes.  
  
"I'm cutting the jewels off it."  
  
"Please don't do that."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's, uh, worth more whole."  
  
Miaka gave a careless shrug. "Well I'm certainly not dragging it out with me."  
  
"Look, take this instead." He reached into the drawer in his end table and tossed her a pouch of spare gold coins.  
  
Her eyes widened in respect. "Wow, you really have this place mapped out."  
  
Irrationally, he felt pleased at her comment. "Well-"  
  
"Majesty!" The door burst open, revealing to a very stunned set of guards Hotohori kissing the girl deeply.  
  
"Your Majesty," they said, bowing submissively. "Uh, we're so sorry." Backing out swiftly, they shut the door and disappeared.  
  
Hotohori released her. "Sorry," he said breathlessly. "But I'm told I look like the emperor from the back."  
  
"Wow." She swallowed and wiped her palms on the back of her pants. "Wow," she repeated simply. "Damn, but can you kiss."  
  
"Thank you. Look, you should go. I can give you directions out."  
  
"Aren't you coming?"  
  
He smiled and shook his head. "No, I plan on staying around a bit longer."  
  
Her lovely green eyes clouded with concern. "Isn't that dangerous?" He felt touched. Someone was actually worried about him? "Or - do you have a deal with the guards?"  
  
"Something like that," he said with a half-smile. "I pay them and they are never around when trouble is associated with me." Which was true - he had to take care of the last three assassins by himself.  
  
"Good deal."  
  
"Go down the hallway and hang a left, then a left again. Go straight two hallways more, take another left and you will find yourself by the gate."  
  
"Got it. Thanks Hotohori." She paused, giving him a speculative look. "You know, I might be sneaking in here about this time tomorrow..."  
  
"So will I. Shall we meet by the shrine?"  
  
Another one of those brilliant smiles. "Yes, let's."  
  
"And Miaka -" he grabbed her arm. "If you ever need help, I'll be here."  
  
Impulsively, she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks."  
  
Then she was gone, leaving Hotohori standing alone in his room. He raised his hand to his face and gently touched the spot where she had kissed him, eyes fixed on the distance.  
  
-4-  
  
"Tamahome!" Miaka squealed, bounding into the room and jumping on his stomach. "Tama, Tama, Tama! Look at this!" She upended the pouch Hotohori had given her, spilling coins all over his pallet.  
  
"Wha- Great goat grappling gods! How did you get that?"  
  
"I robbed the palace. IwasreallypissedatyouforybeingapricksoIbrokeinandmetareallyhotguynamedHotoho riwhoIthinklikedme,anywayhetoldmehowtogetoutandgavemethispouchofcoinssoI'dst opwreckingtheemperor'sclothes. And that's what happened." She sat back on her heels, waiting for his reaction.  
  
For his part, Tamahome sat still for several minutes, waiting for his mind to translate everything she had just said. Then he reacted. "You did what?!" he roared. "You idiot! You could have been killed! What were you thinking?"  
  
"I just thought.... I thought you'd pleased," she quavered.  
  
"Pleased? Why would I be pleased? To wake up and never know what happened to my partner because she was shot down by the palace guards? All because you wanted to prove you had more testosterone than any ten men?! You think that would please me?" He was in fine form now, pacing across the room and throwing things as he ranted.  
  
"I-I-I hate you!" Miaka burst into tears and fled the room.  
  
"Wait, where are you going?" he shouted, anger evaporating.  
  
"To someone who cares about me," she shouted, slamming the door behind her.  
  
"Miaka - Suzaku, you idiot!" Throwing on the first clothes that met his hand, Tamahome ran after her out into the street. It was too late. She was gone.  
  
-5-  
  
Blinded by tears, she wandered the streets aimlessly. She let her feet carry her where they would. Since coming here, she hadn't really made any friends that weren't also Tamahome's. Running out was bluff. She didn't have anywhere else to go.  
  
"You, wench. What are you doing, hanging about here? Don't you know where you are?"  
  
"No, not really." She scrubbed her eyes on the back of her sleeve and looked for the first time at the place she had chosen to rest. A broad expanse of white marble wall met her eye. And like a gift from God, just around the corner she could see the tail end of her grappling hook trailing in the breeze. It was then she remembered the offer Hotohori had made the night before.  
  
Whistling cheerfully, she moseyed on over to her line. The early morning light was dim. Maybe no one would notice her...  
  
-6-  
  
"Glory fucking hell," Tamahome swore. "Where the hell did she go?" He was getting frantic now. Miaka had been missing for hours and none of their mutual friends had seen a hair of her. "Dammit," he cursed again. "But where else could she have - oh no, she didn't." With a sinking heart, Tamahome realized where she must have gone. The palace. To that friendly thief she had met last night. And he had to go in and get her.  
  
"Suzaku preserve me," he muttered in a quick prayer. Then more softly, "Suzaku keep her safe."  
  
-7-  
  
Miaka was a little surprised at how easily she slipped in again. The guards had the benefit of daylight now, as well as their scare from the night. They should be more wary than ever. Instead, she was able to bypass them all together.  
  
Once in, however, she faced a new problem. She didn't know that Hotohori was actually in the palace now; he could have left hours ago. And even if he hadn't, how would she find him? After giving the problem due consideration, she settled on the solution that had served her so well last night; wander around until she hopefully bumped into her target.  
  
In the meanwhile, she enjoyed her view of the palace.  
  
-8-  
  
Hotohori drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to jerk his mind back to the work at hand. He knew it was a lost battle even as he fought it. He just couldn't stop thinking about Miaka. In the hour he had known her, she had already wormed her way deeper into his heart than anyone else he had met. There was something special about her. Maybe it was the way she had talked to him as a person, a courtesy no one else had ever granted him. Or maybe it was her honest friendliness, the warmth with which she treated a stranger. But what really lingered in his mind were her warm green eyes. Her beautiful green eyes...  
  
"Majesty, stay where you are," one of the guards called. "There's an intruder loose in the palace. Some foreign woman. We'll take care of her."  
  
Hotohori only heard the words "foreign woman."  
  
"Foreign woman? But who... Could it -? It has to be," he muttered distractedly. "But if it is Miaka, why is she here?" A moment later he dismissed the train of thought. The important thing was to get to her before the guards did. Even morons couldn't be incompetent all the time, and if they caught her... Shuddering, he slipped outside. He knew what he had to do, if only he had time.  
  
'Suzaku, please keep her safe.'  
  
-9-  
  
"Why does bad stuff always happen to me?"  
  
The question was more rhetorical than anything else at the moment. Miaka had wondered earlier how she had gotten in so easily - now she knew that the hard part wasn't getting in; it was getting out.  
  
"I'll never argue with Tamahome again," she huffed as she ran from a group of very angry guards. "I'll never break into another palace as long as I live. I'd rather rob a church first. What can holy men do to you anyway? Why the hell are they still following me? Do I really look worth that much effort? God fu- mph!"  
  
Kicking wildly, she fought the strong grip of the arm, which had appeared from the bushes to drag her back. A surprised hiss of pain, followed by her release told her that she had not missed her mark. She turned to face her kidnapper, ready to do battle - and stopped in surprise. Hotohori looked up at her with reproachful eyes, one of which was already blackening.  
  
"Get your head down," he whispered, pushing her to the ground. "They will see you."  
  
"Oh my god, Hotohori, are you okay?" she whispered back in chagrin. "I didn't mean-"  
  
He placed his finger gently over her lips, cutting her off. "Think nothing of it, dear lady. It was my fault for startling you, but I fear there was no other viable alternative."  
  
"Um...okay, I won't."  
  
Hotohori broke the silence before it could become uncomfortable. "What brings you here?" he asked gently. A brief look of annoyance flashed across his face. "You could have been killed, you know."  
  
Miaka stopped, dumb. He sounded so much like Tamahome - the heartsick worry and fear in their eyes had even been identical. Remorse filled her for the argument they had. He had just been worried about her, and she had blown everything out of proportion.  
  
"Never mind," Hotohori said hastily, taking in the look on her face. "I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you. The important thing is that you are all right." His eyes softened. "Do you need help?"  
  
"Um, I need to get out. Coming here was stupid. Tamahome and I had a fight and I wasn't thinking too clearly."  
  
"So, you are positive you want to go home?" He sounded disappointed.  
  
"Positive. By the way, what are you still doing here? Isn't it dangerous."  
  
"Um, well, I, you know, sort of, kinda -" he temporized.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I work here."  
  
"Really?" The revelation brought about only a raised eyebrow. "Embezzling your employers. Slick."  
  
"That is why I know my way around so well," Hotohori explained frantically.  
  
Miaka nodded. "Well if you work here, I don't want to get you in trouble by being caught with me. You might lose your job."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thanks for your help, Hotohori. See you around."  
  
She stood and started to saunter casually away. "Wait! Where are you going?"  
  
"Home! See ya!" Miaka called over her shoulder, as she broke into a run. Ran in the wrong direction - towards the palace.  
  
-10-  
  
'She got arrested, of course,' Tamahome thought matter-of-factly. 'All I have to do is find my way in and break her out.'  
  
He frowned to himself. The easiest way to do that would be to let himself get caught and arrested. The problem was that wasn't as easy at it sounded. The guards around the palace were stupendously incompetent. He had walked up to the front gate and said he was a traveling shoe salesman - and they had let him pass! He'd have to do something even they couldn't ignore; to one of their superiors, preferably.  
  
"Hey boys," he said congenially, strolling right up to them from the bushes. "Where's the buffet line?"  
  
-11-  
  
"Ow," Miaka complained, rubbing her back irritably. "That hurt. You could have tossed me a little more gently, ya know!"  
  
"Heads up," he called back in response. "We've got another prisoner coming in with you!"  
  
"Wha - oomph." Miaka was cut off as a warm body collided with her. "Watch it bud - Tamahome?"  
  
"I thought that'd work," he said in satisfaction.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
He gave a snort of disgust. "What does it look like I'm doing, idiot? I'm coming to rescue you. It figures you'd get arrested."  
  
She wasn't about to let him sidetrack her with petty insults. "Why?!"  
  
"Why what?" He looked honestly puzzled.  
  
"Why'd you come back for me - even after all the horrible things I said to you?!"  
  
Tamahome grew serious. "You're my partner. I'll always be there to cover your back."  
  
"Tamahome..."  
  
Her stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the moment. Blushing, she searched her pockets for anything to eat. Triumphant, she pulled a stick of gum from her jeans. It must have dated from when she was her world, but for being over a year old and through various washings with her pants, it didn't taste that much worse for the wear.  
  
The guard, alerted by her movement, marched over to their cell. "What did you put in your mouth? Show me!"  
  
Miaka considered the command for a moment, and then blew a huge bubble. The guard shrieked and ran, throwing his keys behind him. Tamahome caught them easily.  
  
"Good job, kid!" Tamahome grinned, only to shrink back in horror at the sight of chewing gum all over her face.  
  
"Monster," he cried and promptly ran into a wall.  
  
"Weirdos."  
  
After scraping Tamahome off the wall, they set out to find a way out of the palace. Miaka hummed the theme to "Mission Impossible" until Tamahome kicked her.  
  
"Do you mind? We're gonna get caught."  
  
"Yeesh, don't be such a worry-wart. They'll never catch us."  
  
"Like they didn't catch you last time?"  
  
"I let them get me," she said airily.  
  
"No -" he corrected. "I let them catch me. You were arrested entirely by your own merit. Unless, of course, your little friend alerted them," he added in an after-thought.  
  
"What do you mean?" Miaka looked honestly puzzled.  
  
He gave a heartfelt sigh. "Do I have to explain everything to you? Chances are there'd be a nice fat reward for finding the intruder, so he sold you out."  
  
"But I could tell what he'd been up to last night, and he'd get in trouble."  
  
"Who'd believe you? You're a criminal."  
  
"You don't think Hotohori would do that, do you?" She looked troubled. "He seemed so nice...."  
  
"Never trust a friendly stranger, Miaka," Tamahome admonished wisely. "Miaka?"  
  
His advice was lost on Miaka as she followed the enticing aroma of gourmet food to the kitchen. Creeping inside, she drooled appreciatively over the delicacies before her. After gorging herself on someone else's supper, probably several someone else', Miaka ambled out into a sunlit courtyard. It was then that she realized she didn't know where she was. Again.  
  
"Oh no, I've lost Tamahome again! I'm lost and shall surely perish!" she cried melodramatically. "Help, oh help."  
  
"Are you crazy?" a familiar voice interrupted. Hotohori stalked over to her, running his fingers through his long brown hair in agitation. He pulled her into his strong arms before she had time to protest. "Suzaku, I was so worried about you," he murmured into her hair. "You could have been killed."  
  
"But I wasn't." She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "How did the guards catch me?"  
  
"What do you mean?" He looked genuinely confused. "You ran into one."  
  
"No." She took a deep breath. "I mean did you tell them where I was?"  
  
"No! How could you think I would?" Hotohori sounded hurt. "What did I ever do to make you think I would betray you? I gave you my word of honor that I would help you, and I have yet to find help used in any context that included treachery! Are you doubting my honor?"  
  
"No, no." Miaka soothed desperately. "No, I'm sorry sweetie, don't be upset. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Please, forget I said anything." She patted his hand and looked up with soulful eyes. "Please forgive me. I really didn't mean any offense."  
  
"It's alright. Please don't look like that. I forgive you. You feeling bad about me feeling bad is making me feel worse."  
  
Miaka sniffled and looked up hopefully. "You really forgive me?"  
  
"Yes! Please don't cry. We have got to get you out of here."  
  
Miaka shook her head stubbornly. "Not without Tamahome."  
  
He sighed at her determined face. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "I just hope this Tamahome of yours has not gotten into too much trouble."  
  
-12-  
  
He should have wished harder. Tamahome could have used the help.  
  
Frantic at her disappearance, he wandered about everywhere looking for Miaka.  
  
"Where the hell is she?" he bit out tersely. The palace gave him the creeps. The longer he stayed here the better the chances were of a guard finding them. They were doubtless hunting him down now, waiting for him to fall into range of a scout and then ambush him...or walk head on into an entire contingent and save them the trouble, as matters stood.  
  
"Holy shit!" Tamahome turned tail and ran.  
  
Keeping in line with the way his luck had been going, the guards gave chase. Tamahome skidded around a corner and promptly crashed into someone. A beautiful young man stared at him in annoyance, long brown hair falling into his eyes.  
  
"The intruder is assaulting the emperor! Kill him!" Tamahome rolled off the man as a spear came down. It became embedded inches from the crotch of the handsome man. He gaped for several moments before regaining his voice.  
  
"Stop, you imbeciles!" Whether the guards didn't hear him or they were too stupid to obey, no one will know, but as another spear came flying Hotohori was directly in its path.  
  
"Scrotum licking fuckholes!" Miaka screamed, her red death ray going off. It swept through the courtyard, obliterating the guards and weapons. Servants of all kinds stuck their heads out various windows to see what the commotion was. More guards as well as Hotohori's advisors appeared, intent on homicide. Hotohori stopped the killing regally.  
  
"Stop where you are and pay homage to Miaka Yuuki, Priestess of Suzaku!" Needless to say, jaws dropped but one by one, so did the heads of all present as they offered thanks to the gods for delivering them. 


	3. A Wedding and an Escape

Chapter Three  
  
"Are you perfectly comfortable, Lady Nuriko?" a nervous servant asked for the tenth time that hour.  
  
She stifled a sigh of irritation. Why did he have to keep asking that? Of course she wasn't comfortable. The jolting of the stupid carriage had nearly shaken loose her teeth as they passed over every pothole in the godforsaken empire. Her buttocks had gone numb from sitting on a thinly padded seat for the last six hours and no amount of fidgeting could produce anything but a dull ache. But wait, ladies weren't supposed to fidget, were they? She felt her features twist into a snarl.  
  
"Do you want anything?" he continued anxiously. "A book? Tea, perhaps?"  
  
"What I want," she replied irately, "Is for you to leave me alone. I cannot bear spastic behavior at this time in the morning. Kindly take your twitching and spasming elsewhere."  
  
He took one look at her face and fled. His mistress was notorious for her temper.  
  
With a sigh she settled back into her seat, determined to sleep if at all possible. Her peace, however, was to be short lived. A brief rap on her window brought her forcefully back to consciousness.  
  
"Pumpkin," her father, His Royal Highness the emperor of Hokkaido said, riding up beside her. "We shall be arriving at the palace within the hour, so I want you to clean up and look pretty."  
  
"Of course, Daddy," she said with a bright, vapid smile. 'Hmm....maybe his horse will buck and break his neck. Then, I can run over his corpse with this carriage, a couple of times just to be sure. I wonder if this thing goes in reverse... Anyway, after that, I shall scrape up his remains and give them to the bandits in those ghastly mountains...'  
  
"Daddy," she continued cheerily, "What can you tell me about my intended?"  
  
Her intended, the entire reason for the expedition. She hadn't known about him until the day they had left for Konan. The day after, actually.  
  
****Flashback****  
  
(Her father, throwing open the curtains to reveal bright sunlight.)  
  
Nuriko: Wha - It's noon. Why the hell did you wake me so early?  
  
King: Up and at 'em, sweetie. We're going for a little road trip.  
  
Nuriko: Where?  
  
King: You'll find out....  
  
****Forward Three Days****  
  
King: I think you should know, honey bunch, the real reason we are taking this trip. Nuriko: What? You mean, it wasn't to get me a new wardrobe?  
  
King: No, but I'm sure you'll get lots of pretty new clothes where you are going.  
  
Nuriko: (suspiciously) Where are we going?  
  
King: (Brightly) You're getting married to the emperor of Konan! Congratulations sweetie, we'll be there in another couple of days.  
  
Nuriko: (screech) What?! Let me out, you fat bastard! You are going down!  
  
********************  
  
Her father had apparently forgotten the entire incident, lulled into complacency by her outwardly docile behavior.  
  
He scratched his head, wearing a puzzled frown. "Well I do not remember much. I think he is younger than you. Yes, yes he definitely is. Beyond that, I cannot tell you much. I have not seen him since he was born. As I recall, he was quite the hideous baby, with a huge head."  
  
"Oh great, nine years younger," she pronounced in disgust. "I can see it now; some scrawny, pimply faced pubescent boy, with a squeaky voice. 'Hi Nuriko! I am the emperor of Konan. Let's go make an heir. As of last week I'm ready! My name's -'" her voice dropped from her slightly nasal imitation of the bridegroom to her normal tone. "What is his name, anyway?"  
  
"Shrew, Shoe, Shir, Cher, something like that. The name doesn't matter pumpkin," the king said placatingly. "The point is that you'll get to be empress of a great big country."  
  
Nuriko kept talking, foul mood refusing to be soothed. "He won't be old enough to have chest hair," she continued in disgust. "Mind you, I am not overly fond of chest hair, but I would prefer it if for my husband waxing was an option, as opposed to never having grown any in the first place."  
  
"I do not think he is quite as young as that, sugar pie," her father said in a reproving tone. "And anyway, even if the match is not quite as ideal as one could wish, at least you will have several weeks to accustom yourself to the notion at the palace."  
  
"Actually, sire, not quite that long," a scout interrupted, politely clearing his throat. "We have just received word that the advisors of the emperor are quite anxious to have an heir and wish the wedding to take place tomorrow. They are, after all, in the midst of a war."  
  
"Great, a war. That's just peachy! Can you add assassination to my list of things to worry about?"  
  
"Now pumpkin...."  
  
************************  
  
"Good morning, Your Majesty, and a joyous morn it is as well!"  
  
"Huh-?" Hotohori raised his head blearily at the cheerful tone of his advisor's voice. Such glee usually meant something unpleasant to him. The sunlight struck his eyes with a palpable blow. "It's dawn! You let me sleep in! What happened?"  
  
"We decided to let you have the day off, with only one thing on your schedule."  
  
He looked at them suspiciously. "What is it? Oh no - it isn't my birthday again, is it? That's not fair, I thought I just had one last year." He flopped back on to the bed and hid his head under a pillow. Not another stupid formal occasion. The last birthday ball had bored him to tears.  
  
"No, something better," he replied in a singsong tone.  
  
"Oh God, it isn't New Year again, is it?" Those parties were even worse.  
  
"No, even better than that!"  
  
"Christmas? Please, no!!"  
  
"Better still!"  
  
"I suppose it's too much to hope that you've declared this dynasty in violation of the Mandate of Heaven and are appointing someone else to succeed me?" came the muffled question from where he was burrowed in covers.  
  
"No, better still! You're getting married today!"  
  
A long silence ensued. Finally, Hotohori's plaintive prayer broke it.  
  
"Suzaku why couldn't that have been rat poison I swallowed last night instead of an aspirin?"  
  
"...So she arrived late last night and I am to marry her this evening," Hotohori concluded.  
  
Tamahome, surprisingly enough, was the one to offer unfeigned sympathy. "An arranged marriage? That's tough, buddy. Especially considering what they say about foreign princesses..." He cast a surreptitious look at Miaka. Predictably, she took the bait.  
  
"What do they say about foreign princesses?"  
  
He grinned. "Woof."  
  
If anything, Hotohori looked even more depressed. "I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you scout her out for me? They've tripled the guard force on me until three weeks after the wedding."  
  
"Wait, you're not actually considering marrying her, are you?" Miaka asked, aghast.  
  
"No, no, I just want to know what I am running away from."  
  
"Of course we will. Then, when we are properly awed at the sheer number of ways she resembles a dog, we'll help you bust out and hang low for a while. No, don't mention it," Tamahome said with relish, cutting off Hotohori's stammered thanks. "This is gonna be fun."  
  
************************  
  
Nuriko knelt before the statue of their god, Suzaku, in the main shrine. Supposedly she was there to offer thanks for her luck at snaring an emperor and to reflect on her new life. In reality, she was stalling.  
  
'I can't marry him,' she wailed mentally. 'I'm too young and pretty to be subjugated to a horrible fate like that! I don't want to die in labor two years from now. I won't! I refuse! I'll commit myself to a convent first! I'll go on a hunger strike first! I'll lock myself in my room! I'll - ooh, wait, that's not a bad idea. Though maybe not actually locking myself in my room, but making them think I did. And while they're trying to scare me out, I can.... perfect."  
  
Nuriko rose, her serene outer countenance now matching the satisfaction she felt inside. The ruby eyes of Suzaku glittered portentously in the light of the candles.  
  
************************  
  
Miaka and Tamahome burst into Hotohori's room, interrupting his pacing mid- stride.  
  
"Well?" he demanded.  
  
Miaka's first words filled him with foreboding. "Can you say bimbo? She has absolutely no mind of her own. Every other sentence to her father ended with, 'of course Daddy, whatever you want.' Every sentence to anyone else was an order to see to her comfort. I'm sorry, Hotohori, but you are going to marry a prissy debutante unless we get you out of here and I mean now."  
  
Tamahome started talking right on top of her. "Forget that, Hotohori. Can you say babe? What a fox!"  
  
"There was no character in her appearance," Miaka said primly.  
  
"Oh, yes. Damn you flawless perfection."  
  
"Flawless perfection? Really?" Hotohori was intrigued despite himself.  
  
"Oh yeah. Hot damn! Alabaster. That's the only way I can describe her skin. Creamy and white without a single blemish -"  
  
"Excuse me? Bim-bo."  
  
"Nice and curvy," he continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Though in all fairness, her legs weren't as long as Miaka's -"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"-but they were definitely nicer. Oh man, I've got to tell you, her chest - wow. Large, yet perky, I have never seen a nicer set of boo-"  
  
"Pig!" Miaka slapped Tamahome upside the head. "She's a stupid bimbo! Bimbo! Are you listening?"  
  
"-And the way she walks, she sort of shakes her hips and her shoulders, then her chest starts to jiggle - she even makes it look perfectly natural!"  
  
"She can't be a virgin, no one who looks like that could be one. You are getting used goods, Hotohori."  
  
"Shut up, Miaka. Anyway, she has clear blue eyes and long hair that would go to her toes if she ever let it down. It's bronze. Bronze! It looks so incredibly soft -"  
  
"Bimbo! Anyone?"  
  
"Really, bronze? Naturally?"  
  
"Yeah, it looked natural enough. And the way she dresses leaves plenty to the imagination. She's got excellent taste and even if she is a slut, she doesn't look it."  
  
"How did she look? I mean did she look happy to be there?"  
  
Tamahome hesitated. "Well, that's the catch. When she was alone, she looked kind of...pissed. But when her father or anyone else was here she looked, um, I don't know how to describe it -"  
  
"Bimboey."  
  
"Right, bimboey. Wait, is that even a real word?"  
  
"Look, Tamahome, it's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."  
  
"Right, bimboey. Anyway, I'd think twice about trying to split. There are worse things you could be married to."  
  
"There are also better women I could be married to." Pointedly, Hotohori didn't look at Miaka. "Looks will fade one day and I would rather not be chained to an empty headed shrew the rest of my life. Were you serious about the offer to get me out?"  
  
"Yeah, though I think you could be making a big mistake. But if it's what you really  
  
want -?"  
  
"It is."  
  
"Then we'll go find room to hide you back at our old place. Damn, you could probably hide under a pile of laundry and never be found."  
  
"I don't think so. I left an awful lot of panties back there and I don't want Hotohori to see them."  
  
"But you let me see them all the time! You even made me do the smell test!"  
  
"Yeah, well I want his respect."  
  
"So what, mine doesn't matter..." Their voices trailed off as they turned a corner down the hall.  
  
With a weary sigh he slumped bonelessly into a padded chair. How strange that all of his hopes should now rest on Tamahome. He could learn to like the man yet.  
  
************************  
  
Nuriko sighed in satisfaction as she slipped into men's clothing. She had almost forgotten how comfortable cross-dressing could be. Well, except for the part about binding her chest. That was just painful.  
  
She was an old pro at sneaking out of palaces by now, but even so, the guards in this one seemed especially incompetent. Within ten minutes she was on her way strolling merrily down the street. Well, skulking in the alleys, at least. Being cocky was what had gotten her caught last time. She winced a little at the memory of the beating that stunt had earned her. Of course, it hadn't left any scars that would decrease her value. Or at least not any that were readily visible.  
  
She shivered, trying to shake off the unpleasant memories. That had been the last time her father had tried to sell her into a marriage, back when she was sixteen. She had been no more inclined to be bought than she was now. With grim pleasure she reflected upon what he must have felt when he heard that she was gone. Shock, probably. And that she had run off with her dowry money to set up on her own was even worse. Shock would have turned to fury when he couldn't find her at once. Imagine, a mere female daring to defy him, the king! What really ate at him was how easily she had outwitted him. She had spent a year on her own, prospering as a fashion designer. Her clothes had been world renown and made her wealthy beyond all expectation - until he caught up with her. The last five years had been spent locked up within the palace, heavily guarded. When word of her rebellion slipped out, her affianced had stalked off in a huff and not a single marriage offer had come for her until now. Now, as he was wont to do, her father had let her previous insurrection slip from his mind in light of the new offer. And if he did not choose to recall it, well then, in his mind, it hadn't happened.  
  
She sent a brief, fervent prayer up to whoever was listening. "Oh God, please don't let me get caught again."  
  
************************  
  
Tamahome was enjoying his friendly bantering with Miaka. As of late, there hadn't been nearly enough time to tease her as much as she deserved.  
  
"Do you remember when we first met and you told me, pay up or put out? Wow, you were lucky all I did was tell everyone you are a human slave trader."  
  
"I still think you were overreacting," he argued. "I mean, I wouldn't really take you up on it, even if you agreed."  
  
"Why not?" Now she was offended. "Aren't I good enough?"  
  
"I don't know.... that bimboey princess was much cuter."  
  
"I don't know that I'd call her cute."  
  
Tamahome paused for an exaggerated moment. "Yeah, I think you're right. I wouldn't call her cute."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I would think 'sex pot' suited her better."  
  
"I wish you wouldn't talk about her that way." Tamahome craned his neck to look at Miaka. She had sounded unusually somber. The sky was darkening ominously as clouds rolled in.  
  
"Why?" he asked bluntly.  
  
"Um, it's nothing."  
  
"C'mon, tell me."  
  
"I said it's not important."  
  
"You know you want to tell me."  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too."  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do too, dotoodotoodotoodotoodotoodotoodotoodotoodotoo!"  
  
"I respect you and it makes you sound like an ass!! Are you happy now? Oh!" she clapped her hand over her mouth in consternation.  
  
"Um...I don't know what to say..."  
  
"Never mind." Miaka changed the subject swiftly. "Um, Tama, why are we walking through the slums?"  
  
"We lived in them?" He was relieved the subject changed.  
  
"No, I meant this part of the slums, you moron. Isn't this the area where that gang leader lives who threatened to castrate us if you ever stepped foot on to his territory again?"  
  
He waved a dismissive hand. "Relax. It's a shortcut."  
  
"Why couldn't we have taken the longer way? What if we get attacked by unfriendly gangsters?"  
  
"We won't run into people like that."  
  
"Oh, and what are they?" she asked snidely. "Peace loving church missionaries?" Standing before them was a group of shady looking characters; the only type of men she ever seemed to run into when she was with Tamahome.  
  
"Let's go ask."  
  
"No, no, let's not. Let's run away very fast."  
  
"C'mon Miaka, buck up. Where's that adventuring spirit?"  
  
"It ran away."  
  
He coughed dryly. "How incredibly brave of you."  
  
"Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of a prick?" The men cut off his reply.  
  
"Tamahome, you're behind on your payments."  
  
"Damn! Is there anyone you don't owe money to?"  
  
"Let's go get something to eat," Tamahome said with a nervous chuckle.  
  
"Too late." The men had ringed up around them.  
  
************************  
  
"Emperor!" The advisors burst into his room.  
  
"I am not the emperor," he responded automatically. "And what?"  
  
They plowed over his protest. "Your intended bride, the Princess Nuriko, has escaped!"  
  
Hotohori stared at them, literally unable to comprehend what they were saying. "What?"  
  
"The princess has escaped! When a maid knocked on her door to see if she needed help with her preparations, there was no answer. Her father was immediately suspicious and had the door removed from its hinges. They found all of her personal belongings, as well as everything of value in the room, missing." The man's face twisted into a scowl. "She had pulled a similar trick last time her father had arranged a marriage for her, but no one thought she'd have the audacity to do so again."  
  
'This is a really bad time to start singing carols of joy,' he reminded himself sternly.  
  
"I had not thought she would have that much audacity myself, either," he agreed mildly. "Well I suppose the wedding is called off."  
  
"Until we find her." Hotohori turned to the source of the voice. Before him stood the emperor of Hokkaido, no longer looking fat and jolly. "A third time being thwarted I will not bear. If she tries to mutiny again, I will kill her myself."  
  
At the determined look in his eyes, he shuddered. Silently, he sent his best wishes after the princess, this time for her own sake.  
  
************************  
  
"Very well, I'm a reasonable man," the ringleader said to the two in not very reasonable tone. "I'll give you thirty for the girl."  
  
"Thirty?" Miaka's protector was clearly outraged. "She's worth forty!"  
  
"Forty?" Now it was her turn to be outraged. "I'm worth at least fifty! And are we talking gold? I am the priestess of Suzaku, after all."  
  
"Heh. Are you really?" Tamahome ground the heel of his palm into his forehead. "You'll fetch a good price in Kutou."  
  
Belatedly, she realized her mistake. "You know where I'd fetch an even better price? To the emperor here. In Konan."  
  
The man gave her a considering look. "No, it'd have to be the emperor of Kutou. Slave trading's illegal here, after all."  
  
"C'mon, I'd make sure he let you go," Miaka wheedled.  
  
"No. And I still say thirty."  
  
"No way! 45!"  
  
"I am not for sale!!" Miaka bellowed, her head rotating three sixty and fire shooting from her eyes. Ramming her captor into a wall, she flipped the stunned body and sent it flying. Simultaneously, Tamahome struck.  
  
"Miaka, get down," he shouted as he threw a man into a wall.  
  
"No way! Do you know what's in the middle of that street?"  
  
"You?"  
  
"No! A big pile of horse - eeeauhh!!!!! Tama!"  
  
"What?! There was a knife flying at your head."  
  
"Excuses, excuses. Hey, watch it buddy!" A man pulled her up and pressed her against the wall. Miaka's voice took on the quality of a sport's broadcaster.  
  
"The knee goes up and the hand goes down. Tamahome is on the attack. That's one down. Wait, wait - there's one behind Tamahome! Will this be the end of our hero? Well no, the priestess is still safe. Her protector ducks, pivots and the man is down! Well folks, we've had our moment of truth. Men do not kick each other in the nuts. How disappointing."  
  
"Do you ever shut up?"  
  
Miaka continued without a response. "Now that our attackers are down, sports fans, I will show that I am decidedly unsportsmanlike. Yes, I will kick a down opponent."  
  
"Miaka, what are you doing?" Tamahome asked in horror.  
  
"I'm making sure they don't perpetuate their evil line."  
  
"What - behind you!!!" Time seemed to slow for Tamahome as Miaka turned to see a man behind her with his sword upraised. Fear held her paralyzed as he pulled the weapon back and pointed it at her chest.  
  
"Time to die," he said with a cruel smile.  
  
"Miaka, no!!!!" Tamahome roared. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel the cold metal penetrate her flesh. The moment before impact, a body knocked her out of the way.  
  
She opened her eyes to see Tamahome fall to his knees, clutching his chest where blood was seeping out from between his fingers. Slowly, he collapsed onto the street, blood pooling about his still body. A clap of thunder sounded, bringing rain pouring from the heavens.  
  
Slowly, the men got to their feet.  
  
"Your turn." 


	4. A Titillating Puzzle

Time slowed as the gang of thugs made their way toward her. Tamahome lay very still in the streets, his lifeblood pouring out of him to the beat of the rain. Miaka closed her eyes and threw her body over her partner as the lead gangster rushed at her, sword glimmering. She waited for death desperately. Anxiously.  
  
"What's the hold up here?" She muttered, opening one green eye. The ruffians lay in assorted unhealthy positions at the feet of a beautiful boy. Bronze hair was plastered to a beautiful, feminine face as Miaka's rescuer turned to her.  
  
She left Tamahome's side as soon as she had gotten a good look. "Thank you, beautiful boy!" Miaka glomped on the lad who seemed first startled then uncomfortable.  
  
"Uh, um - Your friend?" Miaka let go of the grateful boy and fell to Tamahome's side. He was pasty pale and the blood wasn't slowing. The crimson liquid stained her shoes and pants as it pooled around them.  
  
"Tama-" She whispered. The boy squatted besides her and pressed a delicate hand to the wound. The blood slowed but did not stop.  
  
"Hold here as hard as you can. I need to bandage him." Miaka hesitantly placed her hands on Tamahome's chest then pressed as hard as she could. Her eyes never left the boy as his hands moved behind his back. A white cloth tumbled out from under his shirt. And that wasn't all.  
  
"Dude! You're a girl!" Miaka shrieked. The girl pushed her aside and began wrapping the bandage around Tamahome. It soaked through with his blood but no more leaked to the ground.  
  
"We have to get him somewhere safe. Those thugs might have friends." The girl said, lifting Tamahome easily in her arms. "Do you know anywhere we could go?" Miaka took her eyes off her rescuer's chest and thought about it.  
  
"We could go back to the palace but-"  
  
"Too far." The girl cut in quickly. Mentioning the palace seemed to unnerve this brave soul. Maybe she had also spent sometime in its dungeons. They were a nasty place. Miaka thought a little harder. This wasn't their usual area. It was surprisingly sleazier than the one they lived in and the faces of the still thugs looked oddly familiar.  
  
"Oh no!" Miaka gasped. "That fool! That stupid donkey-fucking imbecile!" Miaka grabbed the girl's free wrist and began pulling her. The smaller woman was almost running as she dragged the still form of Tamahome and her savior.  
  
"What is it?" The other girl panted as Miaka paused to get her bearings. The priestess was off like a shot once she was sure and buxom beauty trailed behind.  
  
"We're in the territory of our fiercest rival. And he swore just last week to disembowel us after eating our still beating hearts! Men get angry over the silliest things." Miaka commented as she spied the entrance of safety. She wasn't even out of breath.  
  
"What did you do?" The girl queried.  
  
"What makes you think I did anything wrong?" Miaka shot back. Her companion smiled to herself.  
  
"You seem like that kind of person. A troublemaker."  
  
"How astute of you. Actually, I am. The son of the boss, Isio, strayed into our area of business so we had to take action. Tamahome helped me. That the guy caught on fire was a complete accident."  
  
"Stop right there!" Another burly set of menacing stooges, their leader just as ugly as the last, blocked the way. "So we meet again for the last time, Miaka. I see you spared me the trouble and killed your partner."  
  
"Asshole, he's not dead and the one who won't live to see another day is you. I don't need Tamahome to protect me." Miaka braced her hands on her hips and leaned slightly backward to whisper to her comrade. "Psst, what's your name?"  
  
"Nuriko." She whispered back in bemusement.  
  
"Nuriko will protect me now." The priestess stated boldly. Nuriko's jaw dropped. She would do what?!  
  
"I'm sorry that you chose such a pathetic side, Nuriko-san. It's too bad that such a lovely creature, as you had to die so young. Men, kill her but save Miaka for me." The tough looking hooligans rushed at the stunned woman.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Nuriko shrieked at her ally as Miaka ducked under a nearby doorway. Pivoting, the petite woman slung Tamahome at the oncoming attackers. His deadweight knocked them all to the ground and he groaned, an unearthly sound that sounded as if it came from Hell itself.  
  
"A zombie!" One of the men screeched, scrabbling to get away from the body. His companions followed suit as he turned tail and ran. Only Isio remained and his sword shook somewhat in an unsteady hand.  
  
"W-witch." He accused. His voice gained strength. "Witch!" As he began his charge, Miaka snuck up behind him and put to use her mugging skills. When the brick she held crashed against his skull, there was nothing left of the obstacle that kept them from safety. Nuriko hefted Tamahome over her shoulder and followed the priestess.  
  
"We have to bring him to the palace." Miaka said determinedly. "The only ones who can help Tamahome now are the palace quacks- er, physicians. Don't be scared; I know the emperor pretty well; he won't do anything to you. By the way, I'm Miaka Yuuki, Priestess of Suzaku. Thank you for all your help!" Miaka stuck out a hand that Nuriko shook awkwardly.  
  
This girl was the Priestess of Suzaku? This short, foul mouthed, arrogant chit was the one she was born to serve? And Tamahome must be one of her celestial warriors. How unfair that this cowardly, slut got to have such a good-looking man serve her. Nuriko wished viciously that he died.  
  
Nuriko was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't realize that they were in the palace until a gaggle of healers removed Tamahome from her grasp. Miaka gestured to her to come over. The priestess was deep in conversation with a man who was - well, he was.  
  
Absolutely, breathtakingly, gorgeous.  
  
"Nuriko, this is Hotohori, emperor of Konan and one of my celestial warriors. This is the woman who saved us. Don't you think that deserves a reward? Maybe a nice dress and some cash." Nuriko chose to ignore the fashion snub this ragamuffin gave her and focused on the emperor. So this was her intended. Suzaku couldn't have created a better-looking man for her. She held out her hand.  
  
"I'm really . . ."  
  
"Princess Nuriko!!" The emperor of Hokkaido strode into the room as fast as his considerable bulk would let him. Her father came to her side and issued a sharp slap to her face that resounded throughout the room. Miaka gasped as he went to give his daughter a matching bruise.  
  
"Sir, you will not touch my wife." Hotohori had captured the shorter man's arm in a steel grip that looked painful. Her father blustered mightily as his wont.  
  
"She is not your wife yet. I can beat her until the time comes." He seemed serious. Nuriko cringed. She was stronger than her father, many times over but it went against her very nature to strike that man who helped give her life.  
  
"But she is." Hotohori replied coldly, surprising everyone in the room. "My advisors took it upon themselves to marry us by proxy when she was reported missing. Empress Nuriko is my legal wife and my responsibility. I suggest you treat her with the courtesy and respect due to the empress of the most powerful nation." Her father lowered his hand.  
  
"Good luck to you. She's a troublesome and ungrateful lot. I'm glad to be rid of her." Tears came unbidden to Nuriko's eyes at her father's harsh words. Damn him anyway. She didn't need anyone.  
  
"You rotten old bastard. How dare you disparage your only daughter? She is a decent and kind woman who could easily snuff out your pathetic little life. As her priestess, I will stand up for one of my chosen warriors!" Miaka was fully enraged now. With a patented flying tackle, she sent the fat man sprawling. As she pummeled him, Hotohori's face mirrored the amazement Nuriko's did.  
  
"Suzaku save me from your own divine priestess." He muttered as he pried Miaka from the blubbering Emperor of Hokkaido. The man got to his feet, a linen handkerchief stanching the blood that poured from his nose.  
  
"This place is worse than Hell! You have an animal for a priestess and a bastard for an emperor! You deserve what you got, girl." He stalked off as Hotohori struggled to keep Miaka contained.  
  
"How did you know?" Nuriko murmured softly. "How did you know I was one of your celestial warriors?"  
  
Miaka shrugged free of the emperor's grip and straightened her clothing. "I figured you were something special by your strength. Your name fit too. Also, your shirt's hanging open and I can see your symbol along with quite a bit of tit. You might want to do something about that." She smiled as the warrior fixed her shirt and blushed. "I'd leave you two lovebirds alone, but I think Nuriko would like a bath and a change of clothes before the wedding night. I'll show her the way to her new rooms." Miaka began walking away, leaving the bewildered Nuriko to follow.  
  
*********************  
  
The procession of maids and servants announced the arrival of his bride. Hotohori sighed and lay back against the pillows of his bed. His advisors had just left but only after espousing the great beauty of his new wife. And just in case, they left him with a great deal of both homosexual and heterosexual pornography to make sure he would be able to do his job.  
  
As tradition dictated, the bride was swathed head to toe in white cloth. He was to 'unwrap her', as his advisors had told him. The servants left with discretion, locking the door from the outside. From underneath the cloth, Nuriko gave a little sigh.  
  
"I know my duty and am ready." She said honestly.  
  
"Uh, I can see you are thirsty. Let's have some wine." Hotohori moved briskly to the little table set up in the middle of the room. A decanter of wine along with two glasses stood on it. In his haste, he poured some of the red wine on his pale hand. When he finally managed to pour it straight, Nuriko sipped hers impassively as he threw several glasses back. It seemed to give him some level of comfort because he was soon able to face her without quivering.  
  
"I know you do not love me," he said in a great hurry, "And I do not love you either. If we do not consummate this marriage than it can be invalidated within a year due to the Empress's infertility. I'll set you up with a nice house in the capital district if you like and some country estate and we can both be free to marry who we choose."  
  
It had been on the tip of Nuriko's tongue to pour her heart out to this shy and sweet prince who has so completely captured her heart, but his deal made those words turn to ash. She nodded dumbly, and turned away from him.  
  
"Good." Relief was evident in his voice, the smug bastard. "Let's get some sleep and in the morning, we can join Miaka in her quest to locate the other senshi." He lied down in bed and promptly fell asleep, a welcome reprieve for Nuriko's troubled heart. Wasn't she good enough to bed? She was pretty and young and smelled nice and - Miaka! Why had Hotohori mentioned that silly bimbo? Could she be the one Hotohori had plans to marry? Suzaku save her because come morning, Konan would be looking for a new priestess.  
  
*********************  
  
Miaka didn't know what hit here. Her first non-coherent thought was that somehow, in the safety of Tamahome's sickroom, was that she had been struck by lightning. But lightning didn't bite, did it?  
  
The new Empress Nuriko had sprung on the priestess when she was visiting the injured Tamahome. Like a hound that had had its first taste of blood, she wasn't willing to release her victim until every ounce of life was drained from it. Luckily, Miaka knew how to fight and proceeded to do just that. All of Nuriko's considerable strength went into blows that rained onto her body but Miaka was quicker and was raised from birth to defend herself. Even the renowned martial artist that was her partner was surprised and impressed at the level of her street fighting ability. Nuriko was the unlucky receiver of the neat brick-to-the-head-trick that served the priestess so well. Where Miaka got brass knuckles, no one ever knew but when they split Nuriko's lip and broke several of her ribs, she knew that this fight wouldn't be so easy.  
  
Tamahome slept through it all.  
  
The two women pounded the daylights out of each other until they were too exhausted to move. When they were done and lay on the floor panting, the guards burst in. "We heard the sounds of a scuffle!" They exclaimed. Nuriko and Miaka looked at each other, at their bleeding bruised forms, and began to laugh.  
  
"There's no trouble in here. You are dismissed." Nuriko ordered, negligently waving a hand at them. They stood there and scratched their thick skulls.  
  
"Dismissed means leave, you silly oafs! Get out!" Satisfied that there was no more danger to those people they were supposed to protect, the guards left. Miaka flipped a stray lock of hair over her shoulder and hooked a painfully twisted arm through Nuriko's.  
  
"Let's go shopping and spend Hotohori's money." She suggested gleefully. A wide grin slipped onto the celestial warrior's face. Why had she disliked this sweet woman?  
  
"Okay!"  
  
***********************  
  
The doors swung shut as Tamahome's eyes fluttered open. He had the worst dreams of being stampeded by elephants. Every part of his body hurt and his room was a mess. The elephant explanation seemed relevant as he slowly sat up. When the room stopped spinning, he ventured to his feet. The robe he wore hung loosely on his lean framed so he tied it tighter. The guards at his door waved at him as he left.  
  
Padding down a corridor, he hobbled into the emperor's study. Hotohori was bent over a pile of paperwork. He didn't even look up when he spoke.  
  
"Just leave it on the chair. I will get to it as soon as possible."  
  
"Get to what?" Tamahome asked wearily. His knees felt weak with every passing moment and his vision was blurry. Hotohori glanced up to see his comrade leaning fully on the door to his office. The heavy robes of the emperor hardly hampered him as he leapt over the burdened desktop catch Tamahome as he fainted.  
  
His fellow senshi weighed no more than a girl in Hotohori's arms. He hesitated for a minute as he considered where to put the incapacitated man. The guards at his room were obviously not equipped to care for him. It came to him on the tail ends of a thought. Tamahome could go in his room. Surely sleeping in the emperor's bed was the best place for him. Something nagged him about the faint strangeness of having Tamahome in his bed but it was overridden at the sight of Tama's pale, pretty face. He sighed and locked the door. It was time to speak with his advisors about what constituted as proper care for a Suzaku Senshi.  
  
Nuriko and Miaka, on the other time, were having the time of their lives. Anything that caught their fancy, they bought. The guards, though very stupid, were as strong as oxen and were used primarily to carry their purchases.  
  
Wise women didn't carry money with them; they charged it to their husband's accounts. So the pair was surprised to find themselves the victims of an armed robbery. Turning down an empty road that Miaka had insisted was a shortcut, they came face to face with a band of thugs. Well-armed thugs. The leader was a man about Nuriko's height with a funny hat on his head. In his left hand, he lovingly caressed a hard wooden staff. His voice, while high pitched and heavily accented, boiled with menace.  
  
"Have your men drop your bags and please turn over any money you might have, ladies. I don't want ta hurt you, no da." It took them a combined split second to decide.  
  
"Kill him!" Nuriko yelled. The guards rushed forward, trampling their stuff in their hurry to die. And they died most horribly. Smoke wafted from burned flesh. Blood painted the nearby buildings a nearby red. Miaka almost puked.  
  
"How did you- How could you?! I know they were stupid but that's no reason to slaughter them like cows!" She darted forward to beat retribution from the man but when her hand was about to connect with his face, he disappeared. Unbalanced, Miaka fell on her face. As the thugs laughed, their boss knocked her unconscious.  
  
"Now really, that's enough." Nuriko said in exasperation. "You can't go around hitting little girls like that. I will have to show you it is not so easy to defeat a real female."  
  
A wall of fire suddenly barred her path, surrounding her on all sides. As it grew higher, it took with it the oxygen until Nuriko fainted. Abruptly it died down and the leader knelt at her side to check for a pulse.  
  
"That was closer than I would have liked it Genrou, no da." A red haired bandit, his face concealed mostly in the shadows merely smiled and tapped a large metal fan against his leg.  
  
"But now we got that priestess an' empress. Konan will soon fall ta tha bandits o' Mt. Reikaku."  
  
"But where will it end, no da? When can we have peace?" Lightning crashed in a darkening sky, illuminating briefly, the face of the red haired Bandit King as he answered his friend.  
  
"When I have destroyed all tha Suzaku Seven . . . And their Priestess!!" 


	5. The Word of the Empress Causes Only Trou...

From the Author: Hehe. How many of you are wondering what's going to happen with Tamahome in Hotohori's bed?The answer is nothing!! In this chapter at least. It's a short one but it's important. Thanks for everyone who took the time to review this story!!  
  
  
  
"Miaka. Miaka, wake up." Nuriko leaned over her friend as best she could. When she had awakened, Nuriko had found herself bound and tossed haphazardly in the back of a moving wagon. Miaka had lain next to her, still sleeping. Snapping the bonds should have been child's play for the strong seishi but even exerting all her formidable power, Nuriko could not get free. Someone had infused the ropes with a spell. The creator's chi lingered on it, giving Nuriko a good idea who it might be.  
  
"That guy we met before. Just who the hell is he?" Nuriko pondered. She settled against the side of the cart. The journey was going to be a long one. The man who had conjured flames against her was none other than the famed leader of the Mt. Reikaku bandits. But what did he want?  
  
"Driver! Hey driver! Are you paying attention? Stop this cart right now!" Nuriko yelled. She thumped on one wooden wall with her fisted hands. To her surprise it jerked to a stop. The shock of sudden light after darkness made Nuriko wince in pain. Rough hands yanked her free of the bindings and tugged a limp Miaka after.  
  
"Unhand me, you cretin! Do you know who I am?" Nuriko shrieked indignantly.  
  
"Dead, if you're not quiet, no da." The hushed voice of a man came from next to her. Nuriko went to glare at her captor. It quickly changed into a stare. The man was incredibly good-looking. A ragged scar lay over one closed eye while soft strands of indigo hair fell over the other. He was dirty with ragged clothing but had a dignity she had only glimpsed in the young emperor who had become her husband.  
  
"Is - is that a threat?" Why had her voice become so soft? That was no good; no matter how exceedingly sexy this man was, he was still her enemy.  
  
The bandit gave her a distracted look before returning his eye to the horizon. "No, it wasn't a threat, no da. It's the truth. There are over a dozen men from a rival tribe in the hills no da. They fired off a warning shot just a moment ago. We're horribly outnumbered and I can't take the chance of attacking them with my powers because of HIM, no da." Then he blinked, as if surprised at what he had revealed.  
  
"Powers?" Nuriko pounced on this bit of information. "What kind of powers? Say, do you have a mark on your body that turns red and glows? If so, you too may be a Suzaku Warrior."  
  
"You sound like a travel brochure, no da. Sit tight here, I have to check out the perimeter. My Boss will kill me but - can I trust you to stay here? Will you promise not to try to escape, no da?" He looked so earnest and cute that Nuriko emphatically nodded.  
  
"I swear on the life of my husband, the Emperor of Konan. I will not run." The man looked uncertain but resigned himself. As he got up to leave, Nuriko grabbed his arm. "Wait a second. You never told me your name. Hold will I be able to wish you luck without it?"  
  
"Chichiri, no da. Be waiting when I come back." He slipped away into the tall grass. Nuriko stared after him, silently counting to ten. When the enumerated time had passed, she slung the still Priestess of Suzaku over her shoulder and ran off.  
  
****  
  
"Soi, what do you see?" A pair of lovely blue eyes of the young woman was fixed on a pair of binoculars. Her strawberry blonde hair caught in the breeze.  
  
"There is something out there for sure, Nakago. About four somethings, two of which are the prey we are searching for." Her dulcet voice was as pretty as her face as it peered into his own. She was so certain and confident. How unfortunate that she was married to one of his top commanders. Well, that didn't really need to be a deterrent.  
  
"Lord Nakago." A cold voice demanded attention. Soi leapt to her feet at the sound of her husband's voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard but luckily; the sight was far more attractive.  
  
Tomo stood behind them, shading his charcoal gray eyes from the sun as he scanned the countryside. The shin in his palm idly opened and closed. Nakago scowled ferociously at the painted sub-commander. Tomo was a man that no one liked as a person but in the field he was a force to be reckoned with.  
  
"The Priestess of Suzaku and the Empress are out there Tomo." Soi reported. She stood as straight as a sword and had a mind just as sharp. Years of military service made her a dedicated and clever soldier and worthy of her place among the Seiryuu Seven. Tomo gazed at her with open admiration and a lust that was close to the surface. A notorious playboy, Tomo had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh whenever convenient until meeting his match in Soi. After a scant two months, the couple married and became the best military team in Konan. Only Nakago and his ex-partner could have ever compared. Firmly wishing that the past could be undone, the blonde seishi let out an internal sigh that reached the depths of his soul  
  
***  
  
"Heh. Morons. The whole lot of 'em. Chichiri?" The man's name was question for more information. Always, he needed more information, anything he could get to defeat his enemies without wasting the lives of his men. Tasuki frowned as the monk crawled closer to him.  
  
"She took the bait, no da. I saw her run off with the priestess a few minutes ago." There was smug satisfaction in his voice.  
  
"Perfect. The information I have on the Emperor should play right into our plan. If he really is as honorable as they say, he will not resist our claim to his life. Then Konan will be mine!" Tasuki lit up with anticipation.  
  
"As it should be, no da. If anyone deserves to rule the land it is you!" He was loyal. The one person Tasuki could completely trust was Chichiri. He had saved the man's life from the flood, healed his wound to the best of his ability, and had trained him in the magical arts. In return, Chichiri had been the most effective and intelligent agent he ever had, not counting Him. All at once, Tasuki's good mood deflated. Thinking about His treachery made him morose especially pondering the lasting mark on his life where Koji, Tasuki's best friend, had once been. Now that Chichiri had come, Tasuki had become stricter about the safety of his men, especially those who he cared about. But nothing would stop death if it were fated.  
  
"Chichiri, I need you to go and determine the condition of Nakago's band. And we need to know Soi and Tomo's whereabouts. I won't let that bitch beat me."  
  
"Who, Tomo or Soi, no da?" Chichiri's voice was rife with merriment as he slipped his mask on. The scar disappeared beneath a smiling face. Tasuki shook his head when he did that. The scar wasn't something to be ashamed of. Why didn't Chichiri see that?  
  
"Take the twins with you." Tasuki commanded gruffly. "They need to develop their skills."  
  
"But Tasuki, no da. Amiboshi still sounds like a dying animal when he plays and Suboshi hits himself with the ryuusei more often than he does the target, no da. They'll only slow me down." Chichiri complained. The twins were Seiryuu warriors that Tasuki had found as children. They had been raised by the bandit like younger brothers.  
  
"I know they're screw ups but they can't stay that way forever. Give them a chance, Chichiri." His sigh was one of long suffering that made Tasuki's lips twitch with suppressed amusement.  
  
"Alright, no da. But only because you put it so nicely. I'll see you in a jiffy." Chichiri hopped to his feet then disappeared.  
  
To the east, a powerful life force arose, gathering in the clouds. The sky was dark and ominous, much like the feeling Tasuki was now harboring. Was it the Suzaku seishi, coming to save their priestess? Or was it something far more dire? 


	6. Facing the Wolves on Your Behalf-Miaka H...

~Writer's Note: Shorty chapter. Sorry but I have work. Next week though, I'm on vacation and plan to write!~  
  
  
  
"Tamahome!"  
  
"Miaka!" The priestess rushed to her first warrior and threw herself in his arms. She was scantily clad in silk scarves and looked much more buxom than usual. Her lips trembled as Tamahome gazed down at her beautiful face, so full of yearning and desire. Those lips were full and red and held the promise of otherworldly carnal pleasures.  
  
"Tamahome," she moaned breathily like a woman in the throes of passion. "Tamahome, would you. Would you."  
  
"Yes, yes?" He asked eagerly. By Suzaku, he'd do anything for her! Anything. He'd teach his naïve partner the art of love like a master instructs his favored pupil with time, patience, and wisdom.  
  
"Would you - smell this for me?" Miaka held up a pair of gigantic, fragrant undies. Suddenly, she disappeared from his arms and Tamahome was fleeing from a dozens panty-throwing gangsters.  
  
"No!!"  
  
"Tamahome! Wake up! You are having a nightmare, nothing more. Wake up, I command it!" Tamahome blearily opened his remarkable violet eyes, praying to the phoenix God that the sight of Miaka's pile of dirty underwear didn't greet him.  
  
"Hotohori?" He croaked. He'd recognize that pretty face anywhere. His throat was so dry but he was wracked his violent chills. What happened and where was he anyway? The room was opulent yet tasteful which definitely excluded his shabby, indigent apartment.  
  
"You were struck down while defending Miaka three days ago. You are in my rooms." Hotohori offered him a drink of water that Tamahome accepted as his mind raced feverishly. Did injured guests usually spend their time recuperating in the Emperor's private quarters? Or was something more sinister going on?  
  
"Where is Miaka anyway?" As his mind woke up further, he was vaguely hurt that Miaka wasn't there, nursing him back to health. He rescued her, didn't he? She could show a little more gratitude, the nasty tramp.  
  
"I am afraid that the priestess and the empress have gone missing." Hotohori sounded worried. Tamahome struggled to sit up but every motion was like a lick of fire traveling through his torso. Gritting his teeth, he bore the pain long enough to grab a fistful of the emperor's robe.  
  
"Why haven't you gone to save her?" He ground out. Dear Suzaku, the pain of this wound was like no other he had ever experienced. How could he help Miaka if he could barely move?  
  
"I am the emperor," Hotohori replied with some heat, "I can't just run off and leave it in the hands of those incompetent Asses." 'Those incompetent asses' must be referring to Hotohori's advisor. Tamahome was still not appeased.  
  
"What about your duty as a celestial warrior? If Miaka is killed, there won't be an empire left to protect! Also, what about your duty as a husband? If I were you, I wouldn't let such a fine piece of ass out of my sight, much less kidnapped or murdered or whatever." Tamahome smacked his fist into the opposite palm several times to make his point clear.  
  
"We have to go save Miaka and Nuriko! Where are my clothes?" Tamahome demanded as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He could stand - he hoped.  
  
"Tamahome, you are in no shape to go gallivanting the countryside, looking for the lost priestess. I doubt you can even stand." Tamahome scowled at hearing this bit of truth and promptly hoisted himself up to prove the emperor wrong. Hotohori caught him before his face hit the floor.  
  
Damn you for being right," He growled. "But someone has to save Miaka!" He struggled against his weakness, once more determined to stand. Hotohori placed a restraining hand on his comrade's shoulder.  
  
"One of us will save Miaka. I have a plan." At the evil glint in Hotohori's eyes, Tamahome began to feel scared.  
  
  
  
"Damn him," Tamahome grumbled as he waved the emperor off. Dressed in the imperial robes and reclining on a mobile divan, Tamahome now was the interim Emperor. Somehow, Hotohori managed top convince his advisors that Tamahome would be the perfect temporary replacement while he searched for the last four seishi and Miaka. What did he know about running an empire? He was a scam artist and a thief. Those were hardly qualifications for a politician. He needed to be honest, dedicated, and hard working. All Tamahome was sure of was that he wouldn't let those idiots who called themselves councilors order him around like they did Hotohori. Putting on his evilest grin, the one he used when mugging hapless idiots, Tamahome turned to face the group of men who were congratulating themselves over gaining a malleable new protégé. Steepling his fingers, he let the gaze lingering on each one of them until they sweated and twitched under the weight of their clothes.  
  
"We have work to do." 


	7. A Pretty Girl With A Sword

Disclaimer: I forgot to mention this, but I don't own Fushigi Yuugi. If I did, you would all be paying to read this!  
  
Hotohori took off down a mountain path, whistling in his delight. It had been a week since he left the palace - and Tamahome - to fend for themselves. He was faring pretty well on his own. Only a few minor setbacks had occurred, including the loss of his horse, money, and luggage. He wasn't deterred in the least, why even now he was heading toward a possible seishi! He would find the four remaining celestial warriors and rescue Miaka in a dashing and heroic fashion. She would fall into his arms and they'd ride off into the sunset for the happily ever after he deserved!  
  
Hmm. was it him or was the sky darkening rather rapidly? Hotohori sped up his pace gradually until he was nearly running. But his speed was nothing compared to the dimming heavens. He had barely begun running when night fell upon him along with a rather heavy companion.  
  
As the young emperor got a mouthful of turf, the heavy weight on his back grabbed nimbly at his wrists. Before he could react, he was trussed and tied like a Christmas goose. Unseen hands plucked his sword from his waist and turned him roughly over so the ebony sky could mock his grass stained façade.  
  
"We did it! We did it!" The goddamned thieves were congratulating themselves! How foolish he was to fall into such an obvious trap. The lad from the village must have lied to him and his preoccupation with an idealistic dream did not help either. Still, the sky did not react like that naturally. Something supernatural was involved with this highway robbery. Something or someone that left a lingering chi, which felt oddly soothing and intrinsically familiar.  
  
"Finally." Another voice muttered. Hotohori was reasonably certain that there were three crooks that had mugged him. The two that had gotten the drop on him were young, younger than he at least. Their leader moved with a brisk efficiency as all of Hotohori's pockets were searched and their contents stripped.  
  
"Chichiri, drop the night spell so we can have a look at our captive." One of the young voices demanded imperiously. So, their leader's name was Chichiri and he was the spell caster. All of that was pertinent information that an experienced bandit would never drop for a captive to hear. Hotohori grinned grimly as he sensed rather than saw Chichiri's hand slap his forehead in exasperation.  
  
"I knew I should have left you behind, no da." Chichiri gritted out quietly. Nevertheless, he banished his magic with a wave of a hand. Abruptly, the midday sun was boring into Hotohori's eyes and he winced away from it in pain.  
  
"Kawaii." the one lad breathed. "She's so kawaii!! We caught a beautiful girl, Amiboshi!"  
  
"Excuse me?" Hotohori choked out. Did those brainless boobs really believe him to be a woman? He was naturally beautiful but there was no way he bore any resemblance to a girl!  
  
"Don't worry Miss. You may be our captive but we of the bandits of Mt. Reikaku will not take advantage of you! Please let me introduce ourselves. This is my brother Amiboshi and our sensei Chichiri. I am Suboshi, a proud and noble warrior of Seiryuu!" Chichiri-sensei looked mortified as once again his pupils gave away important details about themselves and their affiliation to the most notorious of all the bandit groups.  
  
"Bandits? How fortunate," Hotohori replied, thinking fast. "It is my most fervent dream to become a bandit! Please," He grabbed Suboshi's hand and batted his long eyelashes at him, "Please, won't you let me join you? I would be ever so grateful." The boy, Suboshi, gaped in amazement as the woman of his dreams practically threw herself at him.  
  
"That is not Suboshi's decision to make, Miss. All petitions for membership have to be brought before the Boss, no da." Chichiri's voice was hard and his one eye held no emotion. Hotohori just had to get them to take him to their leader! Miaka was in danger and he was honor bound as a man to rescue her.  
  
"Allow me to demonstrate my skills as a thief for you. If you deem them worthy, sir, then bring me before your leader." Hotohori stated boldly. Truthfully, he had never stolen a thing in his life but if Miaka and Tamahome could do it, how hard could it really be? Not that he loved her any less for it, but Miaka was not a sterling example of brilliant intellect. He would play up the part of a daring, beautiful maiden and win an audience with the bandit king in order to find Miaka.  
  
"Oh please Chichiri let her try!" Suboshi begged. His floating yo-yos meandered toward Hotohori who slapped it away.  
  
"The bandits of Mt. Reikaku are equal opportunity employers. We must allow her to try," Amiboshi chimed in thoughtfully. He shot a shy glance at Hotohori and tenderly stroked his flute. The emperor shuddered inwardly as he slapped another yo-yo away. Perhaps this wasn't his best idea.  
  
"We just haven't got the time to do this, no da." Chichiri protested. "The Boss sent us on a very important mission and we can't let any innocent bystander be caught up in whatever violent repercussions may occur, no da."  
  
"But she can defend herself!"  
  
"I can defend myself!" Hotohori echoed Suboshi's cry with great indignation. "Give me back my sword and I'll prove it to you!"  
  
Chichiri's interest was peaked. He motioned Amiboshi to return the weapon. "How do you plan on doing that?" He inquired.  
  
"Umm, they are Seiryuu seishi correct? If I can adequately defend myself against them, I should be worthy of the chance to prove myself worthy." Hotohori stopped to think about what he had just said for a second before backing it up with an emphatic nod.  
  
"A blind cripple could defend themselves against these two morons," Chichiri muttered.  
  
"What was that, sir?" Hotohori asked delicately.  
  
"I said, go ahead but if you lose you must go, no da."  
  
"I can't hit a girl!" Suboshi cried with desperate nobility. Amiboshi repeated the claim a bit more quietly. Hotohori unsheathed his sword.  
  
"I have no problem hitting you," the emperor stated coldly. The twins shared a deer-in-headlights look as their blushing victim approached them steadily.  
  
Ten minutes later, Hotohori resheathed his sword and ran a delicate hand through his hair. Suboshi and Amiboshi lay in a crumpled heap on the woodland floor. Chichiri remained stoic as he surveyed the bloodied noses and darkening bruises of his charges. He nodded to Hotohori and turned back to the path.  
  
"We head north," he said, "you may prove yourself on the way." 


	8. Any Reason to tell Emperor Stories: Wome...

Disclaimer: I forgot to mention this, but I don't own Fushigi Yuugi. If I did, you would all be paying to read this!  
  
~ Big Notice: Tasuki shows up at the end of this chapter so there is some cursing. ~  
  
Tamahome lounged on the imperial throne, one booted foot hanging over the armrest. He was really, really bored. Hotohori's advisors wanted nothing to do with him. They had been walking around in a sort of dazed glee after the royal seishi declared his intention of going on a hiatus. To the council, Tamahome was merely a figurehead; someone to play at being emperor while the true one was gone. All of their scheming and dastardly plots could now be realized because Hotohori had left a patsy in his place.  
  
While Tamahome resented being only a pawn, there wasn't much he could do about it. He wasn't strong enough to beat up all of the advisors before the royal guards overwhelmed him. He was still injured. And frankly, he wasn't sure he had enough cunning in him to go up against the most evil men in Konan. Sure, he knew how to set up elaborate scams and how to rob people blind without their realizing but that experience couldn't possibly translate itself to politics. Could it?  
  
The emperor pro tempore sat up straight in his seat. He had just the right skills to pull off a political coup if he played dirty. And playing dirty was what being a thief was all about. What he had to do was pick a topic that he could make a stand on and go from there. Let's see, there was taxes but that was too passé. He could try converting all the heathens to the proper faith but that was on a shaky moral ground. Hmm…  
  
Tamahome smiled evilly as he thought of the perfect issue. It was too good! He would be able to cement his power as emperor and win over half the population of Konan in the process! Chuckling to himself, he headed back to his office. If he played his cards right, he would be the most famous thief in history.  
  
"Time to steal the country," he crowed to himself silently. The advisors wouldn't know what hit them…  
  
  
  
"I have assembled you all here today because of an important issue that I think this country needs to address," Tamahome stated seriously, several days later. He had taken precautions to appear as noble as possible. The crown had made a miraculous re-emergence from the bottom of Miaka's bed. He wore the robes of state and was addressing the advisors from the throne. They knelt at his feet, in a show of counterfeit obeisance. If Tamahome didn't play this quite right, his chances at remaining emperor upon Hotohori's return were slim.  
  
"And what matter is that, O wise and gracious Suzaku seishi?" One sniveling advisor asked. His comrades snickered into the breadth of their respective sleeves. Okay, this was not going well. Tamahome didn't even have the basic R-E-S-P-E-C-T from them.  
  
Plunging ahead, Tamahome fitted them with his best bitch stare. "I have noticed that in this great country we still abide by foolish and detrimental traditions that relegate certain members of our population to the undue positions of second-class citizens." The advisors looked shell shocked at the words emanating from what they had previously considering an uneducated boob.  
  
Internally, Tamahome patted himself on the back. Oh the cleverness of his scheme!  
  
"Yes, I am talking about women. Women, my good men, are the backbone of this nation. How many of you love your mothers?" They fidgeted and nodded their assent that yes; they all loved their mothers. A few members of the group before him began to look ill as they realized where he was going.  
  
"Wouldn't you want your mother, the woman who bore the pain and anguish of raising you, to have the same rights as your father? What I am proposing gentlemen," Tamahome leaned forward in his seat, ignoring the protests of his sutured body, "is the immediate, comprehensive suffrage of the women of Konan." He reclined back into the throne and waited.  
  
The advisors exploded.  
  
"Sire, that is not feasible!"  
  
"Giving women such power? We'd be overrun in a week!"  
  
"Who will do the cooking and cleaning?"  
  
"What next? Democracy? Have you lost your mind?!"  
  
Tamahome stopped their protests with a wave of his hand. "I am emperor here!" he bellowed. "My word is law!"  
  
"You are only emperor until his Majesty returns from his expedition." One advisor told him sternly.  
  
"His Majesty," Tamahome told them with scorn, "has effectively abdicated the throne in order to pursue his dream of forming a boy band with four other youths from New Jersey. What he says is moot. I am your emperor now." They looked momentarily nonplussed by Tamahome's explanation.  
  
"I thought he was going to look for the Priestess of Suzaku," one advisor said in confusion.  
  
"Didn't you hear me?" Tamahome inquired icily. "Hotohori is a close friend of mine so I think that I would know best. He has left to become a man- whore. He told me personally that he thought it was a damned crime to let such beauty as his go to waste." Now, the advisors were totally perplexed.  
  
"But didn't you just say he was joining a boy band?"  
  
"You are skirting the issue sir!" Tamahome roared. They jumped. "Women must have equal rights, today! Right now! In fact, yesterday would have been better."  
  
Apparently his intimidation factor had lessened some in his time at the palace. The advisors managed to pull themselves together. "Our answer is an unequivocal no," they told him resolutely. "You can't possibly foster this kind of change without the support of the council," they informed him with a smirk. No upstart commoner, despite his divine purpose, would ever get the better of them.  
  
Damn. Well, on to Plan B.  
  
Tamahome sighed. "If you will not consent then I am afraid I have no other recourse. From this moment on, I shall be on a hunger strike. Only water shall sustain me until you decide to recant your decision and free Konan's women from inequality."  
  
The advisors were absolutely and utterly floored. This wasn't going their way at all. Maybe they could bluff their way out of it. Surely he didn't have the intestinal fortitude to starve himself to death. Not that they could let it come to that. Tamahome was a Suzaku seishi and needed in order to summon the beast god and save Konan.  
  
"You wouldn't," they said uncertainly.  
  
"I would," he replied a trifle smugly. Well, well. It seemed he had a chance after all.  
  
"Go back to whatever little jobs you were doing and don't return until you have changed your mind." Tamahome instructed them austerely. They'd see; Suzaku seishi Tamahome was not a person to be fooled with. Let them tempt as they may. He would not partake of any sustenance until Konan was ruled entirely by him.  
  
***  
  
In another part of Konan, the Priestess of Suzaku and the empress were making due. Miaka had woken up a few hours after Nuriko rescued her from the bandits of Mt. Reikaku. They had wandered the countryside, stealing food from fields and sleeping in barns. They spent a better part of a week cold, dirty, and irritable. But thankfully luck was fickle and a few days in the small city of Chouko had made them minor celebrities.  
  
"One, two, three, you're out!" Miaka declared gleefully, pounding a despondent man on the back as he left the table. Nuriko sat demurely, her sleeve rolled up past her elbow. That was the fifth man she had defeated this morning and their pile of change was growing. Arm wrestling for money was very profitable. She was gaining a reputation as the Burly Beauty. While that was not exactly the name she would have chosen for herself, Nuriko was content that it was instrumental in getting her and Miaka enough cash to live on.  
  
Miaka was in her element. This was just like working with Tamahome! What a perfect scam! No ordinary man could possibly beat Nuriko's God-given strength. Living in this world, being Priestess of Suzaku was definitely her destiny. She was utilizing talents she never knew she possessed. Like being an entertainer.  
  
"Come one, come all! Test your strength against the Burly Beauty! No man has been able to beat her! You sir, this could be your lucky day! Care to test your strength against this lovely lady?" Miaka singled out a passing man who looked strong enough to break the dainty Nuriko in two.  
  
The man hesitated then sat down.  
  
"Just place your money on the table, friend. If you beat her, I'll double it." Miaka told him.  
  
The match went mostly as expected. If Nuriko had to use a little more effort to be the man, well, it was because he was a giant. He went away defeated but not bitter and at the end of the day, Miaka and Nuriko had enough money to buy a room for the night.  
  
"Aren't you worried that this is a little like cheating?" Nuriko asked Miaka dubiously as the priestess counted their stash. Miaka didn't even look up.  
  
"Nope. We have to survive and utilizing your talents is the best way. Besides, if people knew about your strength, they wouldn't try their luck. It's sound business."  
  
"Perhaps…" Nuriko said doubtfully.  
  
The night passed uneventful.  
  
***  
  
That night a storm passed over Konan. The wind howled, the rained cried fierce, bitter tears over the land, and the heavens protested their lot with violent bouts of thunder and lightning. In the capital, the emperor pro tempore fancied his stomach and the thunder were conversing. To the west, the priestess and empress slept, huddled in a rented room. To the east, a grumpy monk chided his lecherous charges as a beautiful man bore up under the pressure of constant sexual harassment. Yes, even the warring bandit clans in the north were still, declaring an unspoken truce for the night. But only because their respective leaders were out on special reconnaissance missions. And coincidently, they were about to meet for the first time in seven years.  
  
Tasuki swore to himself. This fucking rain was finding every tear and unsealed crevice in his oiled cloak. He was uncomfortably damp and in was all Chichiri's damn fault.  
  
The bandit king's horse picked up a little more speed as it sensed its rider's tension. Yes, this really was Chichiri's fault. If the shithole monk had come back from his fucking mission in a timely fashion, Tasuki wouldn't have had to come out in this fucking storm to kidnap some snot- nosed, shit-faced intellectual type that could help him get one up on Nakago.  
  
Okay, okay. Maybe it wasn't just any snot-nosed, shit-faced intellectual he was picking up. Maybe it was a snot-nosed, shit-faced Suzaku seishi. Tasuki permitted himself a toothy grin. He seemed to be better at collecting seishi than the Priestess of Suzaku was. As far as he had heard, she had collected three: Tamahome, Hotohori, and Nuriko. Tasuki had four: Chichiri, Suboshi, Amiboshi, and himself. Soon Chiriko would join his ranks.  
  
What would cement a thirteen-year-old genius's loyalty? Books? Dirty magazines? Tasuki didn't much care. Whatever Chiriko wanted, he would get. The kid would be a stepping-stone on his way to the throne.  
  
He almost missed the house as the rain became torrential and his clothing soaked. But here it was, the home his spies had reported as belonging to Suzaku Seishi Chiriko. Tasuki tried to make himself more presentable and less intimidating. Maybe simple kindness would be Chiriko's key, like it was for Chichiri. He raised a fist to knock. The door swung upon and in the light from the storm, Tasuki saw an unwelcome face.  
  
Nakago. 


	9. Tasuki's Motives Revealed!

Disclaimer: I don't own. And I'm sorry for the delay!! Forgive me!! This stupid writer has burdened herself with a double major and all the extra work that goes with it. On the other hand, I'll be rich. Also, the chemistry joke is poor but if you knew the horrors of organic chemistry, you'd make it too.  

Warning: Big, galatically huge words. There will be a common English translation at the end. I'm being sesquipedalian in this chapter! Heehee… Also, so much sap at the end, you would think that I am a tree.

Beat Reader: The illustrious Saihitei no Miko, author of  "Passport not Required."

Chapter Nine: Tasuki's Motives Revealed! 

Chiriko had been enjoying the cozy fire of his hearth and a mellow port when the blonde heathen burst in. There was barely enough time to react, much less run before the sadist tied him to his chair. If the recliner weren't so damned comfortable, Chiriko would have given the big galoot a thorough tongue-lashing.

"Stay quiet and you won't be hurt. You are only a bait for a bigger fish." The blonde told him. Chiriko bristled at that but said nothing. Really, the nerve of the man! How dare the Seiryuu seishi break into his house and then claim that he, Chiriko of the Suzaku Seishi, was merely bait?!

Nakago of the Seiryuu seishi. Yes, Chiriko had done thorough research on him as well as on Tasuki of the Suzaku seishi who must be the intended victim of this little heist. Barely a year ago, the two men had been best of friends, comrades under the leader of a united bandit clan. One failed mission claimed the lives of both their beloved leader and friend, Koji, ending any friendship that was between the two men and splitting up the brigands. Now, the two waged perpetual war on each other with all of Konan as a prize. It had been a joke they shared prior to The Mission that the only way to decide who was the better bandit was to see who could steal the country. Funny how after months of feuding, it appeared that neither would win their little bet. How bitter it must be for both of them to know that a lowly con artist, Tamahome of the Suzaku seishi, was going to seize the nation with something as simple as a hunger strike. 

Meanwhile, Nakago seemed quite anxious, glancing at Chiriko's lovely grandfather clock every few seconds. "I dare say, Nakago old chap, it seems that Tasuki has stood you up. Perhaps I was not his intended target after all." Chiriko suggested. "If I were him, which I'm not praise Suzaku, I'd be going after that emperor pro tempore in his time weakness. You know, secure the kingdom and all."

Nakago just stared. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it," he said icily.  Nevertheless Nakago went to peer out the window with a slight frown. 

"Methinks the blonde brute is not as confident as he thinks." Chiriko muttered to himself. 

"What was that?" Nakago asked. "Don't think of yelling for help. You'd be dead before the first word made it from your throat."

"I never dreamed of it," Chiriko said with as much dignity as he could muster. The truth was he had been thinking of it and rejected the plan completely. He had no neighbors and no one was coming for him for days. 

"I'm as stuck as an alpha carbon in a fifteen residue polypeptide," he murmured. "Chiriko my lad, you'll just have to save yourself." He had been an intrepid spirit for as long as he remembered and his days in the Boy Scouts of Konan were not that far behind him. With fingers dexterous from years of scientific manipulations, he managed to free his wrists from the ropes. Yet, for safety's sake, he kept the offended limbs behind his back so as to fool his neanderthal warden that he was still a prisoner.

But when fifteen minutes of eventual waiting had passed, Chiriko decided to make his move. Patience was a virtue he had not yet cultivated; he was only thirteen after all. "I have to urinate," he called out in his most rebellious tone. Nakago tried to ignore him but incessant and determined whining finally brought the servant of Seiryuu over the Chiriko's side. 

"I swear if you make one false move-"

BAM!!

"Take that you nescient bastard!" Chiriko crowed as Nakago toppled under the sudden force of his blow. He had hit the blonde barbarian right the base of the skull, rendering him temporarily unconscious. "No one gets the better of Chiriko, strongest warrior of the Suzaku seishi!"

"Strongest member of the Suzaku seishi, huh? Yer coming with me," Chiriko barely had time to gloat before the identical blow he used on Nakago swiftly robbed him of his treasured sensibilities.

***

Tasuki couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he have Chiriko but also he had the singular pleasure of seeing Nakago, his hated rival lying in a careless heap on the floor like so much garbage. Everything was coming up roses. 

The bundle behind him stirred and groaned. It seemed his esteemed colleague was waking up. And if his initial struggles were any indication, he wasn't happy about being trussed up and battened to the rear end of the horse like so much unwanted cargo. But when Tasuki glanced at his prisoner, the boy's face became instantly inscrutable. It was as if they were playing a game to see who would blink first. Tasuki squared his shoulders and continued the trek. He wasn't going to let one scrawny kid ruin his good mood. 

Night fell and the real danger of his horse going lame in the oppressive darkness was the only thing stopping Tasuki for the time. It wasn't because he felt bad for the kid. Nope, definitely not. If he took extra care to unbind Chiriko's wrists and to give him the only blanket, well, it was only because he was trying to use the manners Koji had so ruthlessly instilled in him. It wasn't like he cared or anything.

It was when Tasuki was scraping more food on to the kid's plate when Chiriko spoke up at last. "You don't have to treat me like I'm a neonate," he said witheringly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." 

"Is that the way to talk to yer elders, boy? What if I had been waiting to kill you? Why tempt me?" Tasuki inquired easily. Time to put his plan into action. 

"I'm not afraid to die." Chiriko told him with false bravado. "Besides if you kill me, you won't get your wish to Suzaku."

"You got a lot of sang-froid for a pipsqueak." Tasuki replied mildly, mussing Chiriko's hair. "And yer right; I'm not gonna kill you. I don't think I'd stand a chance; you sure took care of Nakago like a professional. Do you have a master or are you autodidactic?"

Chiriko looked startled before offering his answer tentatively. "Autodidactic." Whatever he had been expecting in Tasuki, this certainly wasn't it! The bandit had a vocabulary that rivaled his own. Not even scholars used words like 'autodidactic' in ordinary conversation but here was a bandit, who should be basically uneducated, conversing like he had been studying esoteric texts his whole life.

"Very admirable," Tasuki commented. He provided no other bits of conversation for a while. Every once in awhile, an ember in the campfire popped and hissed in protest of the extreme heat. It was Chiriko who could no longer stand the silence. 

"Why did you kidnap me?" He burst out. Despite his better judgment, he was growing fond of the solitary criminal who was carelessly concerned with his captive's comfort.

"I didn't kidnap you, I rescued you." Tasuki told him with a twinkle in his eye. "You may be a formidable little fighter but Nakago has tricks up his sleeve that would flatten even you." 

"But, but you tied me to your horse! And you hit me over the head!" Chiriko sputtered. 

"All for your own good. You could have fallen from my excellent equinine escort," Tasuki alliterated. "Hitting you on the head was a result of my clumsiness and excitable nature. Please forgive me that. But Chiriko I only did it because I need your help," Tasuki told him intensely. 

"You do?" Chiriko said faintly. 

"Yes. I need the help of the smartest person in Konan and you are the obvious choice."

"Don't try appealing to my vanity," Chiriko said even though inside he was flattered. 

"You're right; honesty is the most direct route to one's goal." 

"Getting revenge on Nakago?" 

"Mmm… not quite. Grounding Nakago into dust will be a happy conclusion to my dream but it isn't my entire encompassing objective. What I really want is control over my own destiny." 

"That seems…reasonable." Chiriko said tentatively. Self-determination was the greatest gift of man.

"It does, doesn't it?" Tasuki agreed. "But as a Suzaku seishi, it's nearly impossible because of the priestess. Have you ever given thought to what that mark on your foot means? It's a celestial brand, tying you to the whims of a foolish female from an alien world. I just want to be free of such obligations. If the priestess of Suzaku makes the right wishes, we can be forever free and happy." 

"What wishes are the right wishes?" Chiriko asked warily. Tasuki was making sense but if his plan included violence to any woman, Chiriko would have no part of it. 

"Her first wish would have to be to protect Konan from outside dangers, of course. That is what she came to this world to do. Her second wish should be to grant the Suzaku seishi their fondest wish as payment for services rendered. And her third wish would naturally be to return to her home dimension."

"That doesn't seem so bad," Chiriko said with relief. "But how are you planning to make her wish these things and why do you need my help?" 

"I'll ask her to make those three wishes. If she refuses, myself and the other seishi who are loyal to me will simply not participate in the summoning of Suzaku. Where you come in is in strategizing. I can't ask the other seishi to join me if I can't find them. So far as I know, three celestial warriors are blinded by the priestess. The only one I can't find is Mitsukake. With his inclusion into our group, we will have a majority within the seven of us."

"And what of your plans to take over Konan?" 

"Rumors," Tasuki said dismissively. "Lies spread by Nakago in order to discredit me throughout the empire. They're part of the reason I have such a bad reputation. What do you say Chiriko, do you want to be part of something bigger than yourself? Something so unique that history books will be written solely on the part you play in this game?"

History books written entirely about him? You bet Suzaku's fine-feathered fanny he wanted in! "Deal," he said confidently. He was going to go down in history as the seishi of Suzaku who saved Konan!  

As Tasuki shook the young man's hand, a feral smile crept across his face. Everything was going exactly according to plan. Soon the Priestess of Suzaku would be his and after that the world!

***

Meanwhile … 

The seashore was beautiful. It had a rough kind of power that Hotohori pictured Suzaku possessing. He envied the tumultuous waves their ability to crush every obstacle in their path whether it be rock or earth or boat. If only he had that kind of power. He certainly already had the beauty but the power to totally destroy the annoying brats who followed his every move-yes that would indeed be a gift from heaven. 

"Ooh, I still can't believe that such a lovely lady like yourself is a warrior of Suzaku. Are all the other seishi as exquisite as you are?" Suboshi cooed. Hotohori swallowed his urge to vomit and plastered a fake smile on his face. From the corner of his eye, Hotohori thought he saw Chichiri shake his head in disgust.

"Not all of them but Nuriko is far more beautiful than I." He replied in a high falsetto. _Nuriko. _His wife was surely in deadly danger now along with his priestess yet all he had been doing was fooling around with these Seiryuu asses. Hotohori let himself think briefly on the woman he had taken for bride. If he contemplated his actions too long, he would begin to feel guilty about refusing the beautiful princess. He had seen her heart shining in her cool, liquid eyes and in his fear he had retreated behind hasty words. After all, why would a woman he just met possible have any feelings for him? How could any woman? He was unlovable; even his mother didn't love him. His father had spent years drilling that into his head. An emperor must be above any mortal feelings. He must isolate himself from the petty affairs of the heart. Not that a bastard like Hotohori would ever attain the blessed position of emperor but just in case the country was so unfortunate, he should know a few of the tricks. Hotohori was not allowed pets; affection for dumb animals was something that commoners had. Hotohori was not allowed any friends; they would only use him to get to the emperor and besides why would they like a bastard like him? Hotohori was not allowed the affection of a nursemaid; if anyone of his many servants showed a tendency for extra fondness for the young prince, she would be dismissed. 

He heaved a heartfelt sigh. His life up until meeting Miaka had been like a scene from a nightmare. It was no wonder he had tried to kill himself…

"What are you thinking about, no da?" Chichiri came to stand by Hotohori's side. The monk's pale hand reached to his face and tugged at a piece of loose skin under his ear. His smile tore free and fluttered onto the sharp peak of a moist rock. Politics had trained Hotohori to show no emotion but the removal of Chichiri's grin didn't really surprise him anyway. Somehow, the young emperor had sensed a kindred spirit in the solitary monk. It wasn't just the bond of brother warriors; he felt that with that cunning con artist that was keeping his throne warm; this was something deeper. Hotohori just knew that Chichiri was a product of misery, the same as he.

"I was just thinking," Hotohori began softly, gaze fixed on the distance, "That the time I have spent with the Suzaku seishi has been the happiest of my life."  He pushed his sleeve up past his elbow, revealing a long, white scar that followed the pulsing blue vein in his forearm.  Absently, he traced it with his thumb.  "It hurts to know that Miaka will have to leave soon and that she will do so without ever returning my love – I've seen the way she and Tamahome act together - but for the first time, I have people I care about to help me bear it."  He lapsed into silence, lost in his thoughts.

"I can't claim to understand everything that has happened between you and the priestess but I'm willing to listen to you if you'll return the favor sometime," Chichiri said. He waved the twins away to the forest under the pretense of needing wood for the fire. It would take them a while to find a scrap of wood in there. 

"What is between Miaka, Nuriko, and I is… complicated," Hotohori finally said after moments of screaming silence.

"Trust me when I say that I understand complicated love. I fell in love with the someone that my best friend cared for. After they died, I thought my heart did too until I met someone who I could care for only to be rejected for the specter of lost love. Is yours so much more difficult?"

"I am married to a stranger who seems to have fallen in love with me at first sight. I love a woman who may or may not be in love with her roommate. And I don't think I can bring myself to love my wife." Hotohori finished softly. 

"Why?" Chichiri asked gently. "Is she a shrew? A slothful wench? A dog?" He spread his cloak on the ground and sat on it and after a moment's hesitation Hotohori joined him.

"Nuriko is a striking beauty which is part of my concern. Beautiful woman can't be trusted. They'll shred your heart like it was nothing but tissue in their hands." 

"Sounds like experience talking no da."

"It is. I've never spoken of it, though."

"They say that things bottled up inside you will fester until they are released. I have a first hand understanding of that. If you think you can tell me, I wish you would," Chichiri told him. Both men continued staring at the sea as it rolled and festered. The sky above was gray and leadened with storm clouds. Yet in the distant horizon, the sun peeked out like a bright fingernail. 

"Perhaps you're right. It's about time, I think." Hotohori agreed. Drawing his knees to his chest, he hugged them tightly as he had never been held. With his eyes never leaving the horizon, he began to speak.

***

A sharp autumn wind stirred, bringing with it the first bitter promise of winter.  Hotohori watched with an appreciative smile as a leaf fell from the tree above him.  It hung suspended in the still air for a long moment and then fluttered towards earth in a whisk of graceful movements.  He bent down and picked it up, admiring the brilliant shade of scarlet that only nature could produce.  It was the same rich crimson of the dying sun at dusk, or of a phoenix's blazing feathers...or of blood.  

He glanced inadvertently down at his bandaged wrists, his smile disappearing.  A feeling of alien detachment settled over him as he stared at the injury.  He lifted his first two fingers to his arm and pressed down; first hesitantly, then with more authority.  Blood oozed from the half-healed wound, stain­ing the light cotton gauze that covered it red.  It hurt, but at least it was the dull, throbbing pain of a physical wound.  

The sound of quiet weeping broke his mood and brought Hotohori to his feet.  Slowly, he followed the sound, stopping every few feet to rest.  Losing so much blood had made him weak to the point that simply walking was an ordeal that left him drained and spent.  That had been the reason for sending him to the remote country manor of one of his more distant cousins; so that he might regain his strength in peace.  Well, that and so rumor of the incident couldn't circulate through court and embarrass the family.  

His quest for the source led him to a woman.  She was sitting on one of the many ornamental benches the gardens boast­ed, her head bowed and her shoulders racked with sobs.  He stepped closer to her, laying a hand hesitantly on her shoul­der.

"Oh!"  She jumped back a little, apparently unaware of his approach.  A pair of large azure eyes stared up at him in fright.

For his part, Hotohori could only stare back.  She was the most breathtaking creature he had ever seen.  Her every feature was exquisite perfection.  Lightly perfumed hair fell to her knees in a cascade of golden-blonde ringlets.  Her fair skin practically glowed in the silvery moonlight.  She moved her full red lips silently in fear.

"Oh!" she repeated.  "Who are you?"          

He blinked several times, trying to gather his scattered wits.  

"Hotohori, my lady," he replied, taking her delicate hand and dropping a light kiss on its satiny back.  "Forgive me if I startled you," he continued sincerely, "But I heard crying and wondered at its source.  Are you well?"

She flushed prettily, dropping her eyes.  "Oh, 'tis nothing, m'lord.  Only..." she hesitated slightly, then shook her head.  "Never mind.  The trivial sorrows of the likes of me could not possibly interest a great lord such as yourself."

His expression grew shadowed.  "Sometimes," he began quiet­ly, "Some­times it is the little things that tear at you the most.  They build up inside of you, hammering for release so that you begin to despair of ever feeling sane or human again.  And you learn, despair is the most dangerous of emotions.  It's a leprosy of the soul.  It eats away at all of your hopes and dreams until one day you wake up and realize that where your heart should be there is only a vast, aching empti­ness."  He finally focused on her and gave a sad smile.  "So no, my lady, however minuscule your problems may be they are in no way trivial."   

Tears filled her eyes, and to his dismay, she began crying again.  "No," she whimpered, waving him off, "It's not that.  It's just that I have never heard anything described so perfect­ly.  No one I have ever met can even fathom how I feel, yet here you are a perfect stranger, who understands what I'm going through even better than I do."  At that, she broke down and sobbed in his arms.

When she had stopped trembling, he spoke.  "Are you all right?" he queried softly.    

"Better, thank you."  A fiercely protective instinct roused in him as he looked down at the vulnerable figure in his arms.  "I'm sorry that I broke down on you like that my lord, but-"

"Hotohori," he interrupted firmly.  "Call me Hotohori."

That earned him a wan smile.  "Very well, then, Hotohori.  Please, call me Dafne.  I am sorry that I put you through that, but things have getting so . . . unbearable lately."

"Do you want to talk about it, my lady?" he asked, feeling a keen empathy with her.  "I am certain that I would understand." Again that dazzling smile.  "I believe that you would, Hotohori."  She sighed and leaned back in his arms, resting the back of her head on his shoulder.

"I suppose," she began hesitantly, "It all started with my family.  Mother died young and my father just never seemed to care much about me.  After all, he already had an heir. What good was I?  The first time that he noticed me was when I came of age to be sold into marriage.  That was the only way he could see me as an asset to him.  Even if I wasn't male, the family name still had enough value that a union with me could be bought at a high price."  He blinked.  She could have been describing his child­hood exactly and said so.

She gave a small laugh.  "See?  We have much in common already, Hotohori.  Only, he actually did succeed in selling me and to a more hateful man I could not be wed!"  She sighed, her outburst subsiding.  "He is three times my age, a dirty, old lecher interested only in his business.  The only time I see him is when he comes to me at night."  She gave a shudder of real loathing.  "And then...Sometimes I believe that there is no end to pain in my life.  And then I think maybe it would be best to simply end it all."

"What stops you?" 

"Fear.  And hope.  I know that if I do take my own life, I will be sent back to earth as a demon, never to be reborn.  But if I go on, there is always the hope of rebirth."

Hotohori stared at her.  Religion had never even entered the equation when he had made his attempt despite his destiny as a Suzaku seishi. 

"Your faith is so strong," he said wonderingly.  

"Strong?  No, I am weak, finding comfort behind the shield of Suzaku's benevolence.  Truth, I would not have the strength to do away with my life, unless I were much more sorely pressed by misfor­tune.  I lack the courage."

"But what courage is there in opening your veins?" he argued, feeling all of his doubts rise up behind him in a flood.  "Only a true coward would do so.  What honor is there in taking the easy way out?" 

"What honor is there in staying in an unbearable situation?" she retorted.  "That does not make you strong, it only makes you a masochist.  Did not a wise man say, 'It is silliness to live when to live is torment?'  The strong man is the one who can rise out of despair and find hope anew."

She hesitated a fraction of a second before plowing on.  "Please, forgive me if I am too forward, my lord.  I would not presume to judge, having only known you a short while, but it is my humble opinion that you must find away to release some of the despair you had spoken of earlier, before it consumes you."  She held his eyes with her own.  He met her gaze for a heartbeat, then shook him­self free.  This was the most strange­ly inti­mate conver­sa­tion he had ever had.  

She stood up gracefully and leaned over, planting a light kiss on his cheek.  "Anyway, thank you for listening to me."  

Then she was gone, leaving Hotohori alone.  He raised his hand to his face and gently touched the spot where she had kissed him, eyes fixed on the moon.

***

"Ah, cousin!" Lord Toshihito hailed Hotohori genially.  "I am glad to see that you are recovering from your recent incapacita­tion.  Are you well?"

He sighed and forced his expression into one of pleasant neutrality.  There was no choice; he'd have to talk to him now.  He made his way slowly over to his whitened head.  He really was not in the mood to speak with anyone.

"I am feeling better, thank you," he replied with a cordial smile.  "I wish to offer you my thanks for your kind hospitali­ty."

The old man beamed. "Tush, I am always willing to do a service for the emperor's child.  What else is family for?"

"Yes, what else?" he asked dryly.

"Ah."  Toshihito brightened as he spied someone in the crowd.  "Dafne, my love!  Come to me."

Obediently, she strolled over, brightening when she saw whom he was talking to.

"This is my cousin Hotohori," he introduced, then turning to him.  "Hotohori, this is my lovely young wife, Dafne."

He bowed slightly.  "The lady and I have met previously."

She smiled slowly.  "'Tis always a pleasure to see you, Lord Hotohori.  But come, what's this?  You're my dear husband's cousin?"

"But of course!" Toshihito exclaimed, delighted with the opportunity to expound on his royal lineage.  "Hotohori is the son of none other than our great Emperor who is my fourth cousin thirteen times removed."

"A prince!"  Her eyes widened in respect and she immediately dipped into a low curtsey.  "How could I not have known?  A man as gracious as you could be no less."

Hotohori flushed, feeling flattered yet uncomfortable.  "It is no great thing to be a prince, my lady," he demurred.  "My birth is not something that I earned by my merit.  It makes me no better than any other man."  

His cousin cut in, looking scandalized.  "Of course it does!  You are royalty, man!  We are far superior to these filthy peasants you see about us.  You're demeaning yourself to claim equali­ty with them is a disgrace." 

He winced, sensing that he hadn't scored any points with the host.  The hostess also served him a gentle rebuke.

"Of course we are better than peasants, Prince Hotohori.  Look at them!  They spend all day wallowing in dirt, struggling to eke out their pathetic existence.  If we were not clearly superior, our situations would be reversed.  Don't you agree?"

She smiled up brightly at him.  Mesmerized, all he could do was nod mutely. 

***

"That was my first sign that she wasn't all sweetness and light," Hotohori reflected, twirling a blade of grass between his thumb and index finger.  "But did I notice?  No.  If you remember anything about this, let it be that if you meet someone too good to be true - run.  There is no such thing as a truly selfless person."

"Don't you think that you're just a little too young to be that jaded no da?"                                

"Aren't you a little old not to be?"

***

"Hotohori, such exciting news!" a voice exclaimed in girlish glee.  He turned to face Dafne, wondering a little jeal­ously who or what could have put such a sparkle in her eyes.

"Guess who arrived late last night!" she continued.

"Suzaku?" he hazarded.  

"No silly," she laughed, bubbling with barely suppressed excite­ment.  "The emperor!  He's having breakfast with Toshihito right now!"   

His stomach dropped to his boots.  He hadn't seen his father since the incident that had sent him here.  He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but it probably wasn't parental concern.

"Hotohori?" Dafne asked, realizing that something was wrong.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I had forgotten that he was your father.  I suppose this all seems rather commonplace now." She looked crestfallen.  "I truly am sorry, though.  It's just so difficult to think of you as not only a man, but a prince."

He stiffened in shock.  That was the first time he had ever heard that.  For most people, it was a struggle to see around the title he bore.  No one he had ever met thought of him as simply a man.

"I didn't offend you, did I?" she asked, taking his length­ening silence to mean anger.

"No," he reassured, casting her a sweet smile.  

"Thank goodness!  Come, join us for breakfast?"  She held out her arm invitingly.

He bowed, taking it.  "I would be delighted to."             

The table groaned under the weight of all the food placed on it.  Every inch of the dark mahogany wood was covered with platters.  There were fruits, vegetables, hams, sausages, and omelets.  He counted at least half a dozen different types of breads before giving up.  Each dish looked more deli­cious than the last.  None of it appealed to him in the least, though he did spare a brief moment of pity for the cook of the understaffed castle.  

"Hotohori, how are you?"  The emperor's cold voice rang out above the low conversation of the hall.

"Better, sire," he said, bowing respectfully.  He began eyeing the room's exits warily, feeling like a caged ani­mal.                         

"Sit down," the emperor commanded, squash­ing his half-formed hope of being able to make a gracious exit.

"As you wish, sire."  He held out a chair politely for Dafne, then took his own seat gingerly beside her.  

"Uh..." he hesitated, uncertain of what to say.

"Have you eaten?"  His father gave him a sharp glance.  "You look pale," he said accusingly.

He took a sticky sweet roll wordlessly.  This unfamiliar act paren­tal con­cern made him nervous.  What was he up to?  Under the stern glare of his father, he picked it up and began to work his way though it doggedly.

"We were just having a discussion with Our cousin," he informed Hotohori, falling naturally into the royal plural.  "We were noting the number of years it has been since the bandits of Mount Reikaku have left their foothills. Perhaps now is the time to bring a squadron of soldiers up there to thin their numbers." 

The dough turned to a lump in his throat.  He put the roll down, appetite now complete­ly gone.

"I'm sure you are right," he said falsely.

"Do you remember the last scourge, Hotohori?" he asked remi­niscently.  "It was something like five years ago.  You were just a lad.  We took you and your brothers to see it.  Do you remember the way the blood ran down the mountain?"

"I remember the way they screamed," he muttered, feeling ill. How could he forget?  The mountain villages had been quiet for years until the imperial army came pouring through them like a tide of death. Women, children, and the elderly died under the indiscriminant blade of the soldiers. Hotohori had watched as a boy his age was cut apart slowly while trying to defend a smaller child with hair like a flame. The look in the young boy's eyes as his friend died and as the lecherous soldiers closed in was something that Hotohori could still see behind his own eyelids. And his scream…  It was the most chilling sound he had ever heard.  It was full of animal pain and desperation, holding nothing sane or even remote­ly human in it.  That had driven more forcefully than any­thing else could the fate of those who caught the attention of his temperamental father. Hotohori carried the heavy knowledge in his heart that he was living on bor­rowed time.   

***

"The problem with knowing that you're condemned," Hotohori said pensively, "Is that you have to live in the moment, because you have no future.  But what are you supposed to do when the moment holds nothing for you but pain?"                                             

"Hope," Chichiri replied simply.

That earned him an ironic smile.  "About what?"

"About-" He paused, comprehension dawning.  "Ah."

"You see?" he asked softly.  "Someone once said that while man can live with misery, he cannot live without hope.  I had lost hope before I even knew what it was."                

***

Hotohori found himself staring up at the evening sky from the place where he had first met Dafne.  Nature itself seemed ill at ease that night.  The moon smoldered dangerously behind the cover of roiling clouds.  In contrast, the stars seemed to burn omi­nous­ly bright.  He shiv­ered a little at the driving wind's chill bite.              

"Waiting for someone?" a familiar voice inquired archly.

Hotohori turned to Dafne without surprise.  "Waiting, no.  Wishing, yes."

"And who might this lucky person be?"

He gazed at her intensely.  "I think you know."

She walked into his embrace.  "Tell me about her," she whispered.

His arms closed about her awkwardly.  He rested his head on top of her golden one, breathing in the fresh scent of roses.  

"She's my angel," he said artlessly.  "I met her at the worst time of my life and she gave me hope.  She knows all of my pains and insecurities, yet doesn't shun me.  Instead, she cares for me, as a person, not as a prince.  She is the only person who has ever worried about me, and for that I love her."

"What does she look like, this paragon of yours?"

He pulled her closer.  "She's as ravishing as she is kind.  My lady is as pale as the moonlight, with her golden tresses falling about her in a cape.  When she looks at me with her beautiful sapphire eyes, I am lost, completely at her mercy.  I would do anything to hear her say that she feels for me a frac­tion of what I do for her."

Dafne reached up, her lips meeting his own.

"I love you, Hotohori."     

***

"And of course," Hotohori said bitter­ly, "I believed every word she said, like the gullible idiot I am."  He glared at Chichiri, cutting off his companion's protest before it had fully formed.  "Don't try to argue because you know I what a blind fool I was."

"But you meant well," he pointed out.  "You didn't know that she was playing with you.  You trusted her."

"Oh no," he said with a harsh laugh, "I didn't just trust her, I was madly in love with her.  I was alone and desolate, full of all these feelings that I couldn't even talk about, much less get rid of.  Then she came in and said she felt the same things.  Here was someone I could talk to and trust, I thought.  Here was someone who understood me. 

"Naturally, she didn't actually feel any of the things that she claimed.  She only pretended to so to get me into bed.  I was just another rung she used on her climb up the social ladder.  After all, the emperor's son was a good catch, even if he was only a bastard.

"Can you even imagine how I had felt?  No one in my life had ever given a damn about me, then to hear her say that she loved me... The warmth and affec­tion she lavished on me was like feeding liquor to a drunk.  I was beyond caring about any incon­sistencies in her stories.  I was in love," he said, heaping a load of scorn on the last term.

  


Chichiri blinked, unsure of what to say.  The cynicism of his words only thinly masked the pain underneath.  

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely.  

"Don't worry about it," Hotohori said, letting out a shuddering breath.  A shadow of his old gentle smile returned to his face.  Chichiri's mental sigh of relief ended abruptly as he heard the second half of the sen­tence.  "It was my fault.  I should have known better than to trust her.  Why should she have been any differ­ent?  After all, she's only human."    

He stared at him in dismay.  "Just because one person has be­trayed you, there's no reason give up on humanity," he argued.  "Not every person who comes up to you with a friendly word is just using you."

Hotohori dropped his mask of good cheer, his voice harden­ing.  "But you don't understand.  They all are.  It's not just Dafne who has betrayed me.  It's every­one I've ever met, contin­ually.  I am tired of having my trust abused day after day by those who only care about what they can get out of me.  Frankly, I'm tired of trying to believe in people.  I can't do it any­more.  When I reach into myself to find some measure of faith or compas­sion, I come up empty.  There's nothing left inside me."  He cradled his head in his hands weari­ly, falling silent for a moment.  Then he sighed without ever looking up.  "I'm tired of having it all turn to shit on me," he mum­bled.     

Chichiri blinked, everything finally coming together.  He took Hotohori's arm gently and studied the scar.

"So that's why you tried to kill yourself," he said simply.

"Yes."  He looked up, meeting the monk's eyes for the first time.  "They...um...they...found me in time to...stop the blood­."  He spoke hesitantly, as if afraid of condemnation.  Slowly he continued.  "I never tried again.  After I met Dafne, I never felt the need to.  She gave me something to live for, illusionary though her love was."  

He gave a soft laugh, his attention ab­sorbed by the scar.  "Do you know, there was actually a period of time when looking back on the episode frightened me?  Not because of any fear that if pushed hard enough, I might try again.  No, what really got to me was how I felt when the blood started flowing out of my veins.  As I stared at that pool of scarlet staining the white marble floor, I felt...relieved.  Happy even.  Back then, I simply could­n't relate to the man I had been.  It was as if every­thing that I felt were the memories of a different person.  But now..." His lips curved into a small humorless smile.  "I think I know where I was coming from." 

"So you're happy and depressed at the same time? You must be hell to live with," Chichiri cracked. He let his smile fade as he considered the young prince seriously. "You've spent your whole life surrounded by people yet you were alone. I can understand that. You're afraid that now that you found people who won't let you be alone, that they'll hurt and use you like Dafne did. I understand that too. But for your own good, Hotohori, you must trust someone. Taking a chance with people is what being human is about. And if you aren't going to do that, you don't deserve to protect Miaka."  

"What?" Hotohori asked, startled. 

"If you won't commit your whole heart and soul to protecting her, you might as well just give up and kill yourself for real this time. We were born to serve our priestess no da. If you can't do that, you don't deserve the precious life Suzaku gave you," Chichiri told him slowly. It was as if his message was not only for the young emperor but for himself as well. 

"We've both been remiss in caring for our priestess and all the women in our lives. Right now, Miaka and your wife are wandering the countryside. We can't be sure that Nuriko can protect Miaka alone no da. It is our duty as Suzaku no seishi – no, as men – to guard them from harm no da. So what do you say? Are you with me?" Chichiri stood up and offered his hand to Hotohori. The emperor accepted it with no hesitation.

"Let's go."

TBC … 

_Glossary:_

**Sesquipedalian: **a writer who uses very big words

**galoot**- a very British insult that means something along the lines of clumsy ox   
  
**an alpha carbon in a fifteen residue polypeptide** - the first carbon attached to the carboxylic acid functional group in a peptide. ^_^ It's usually smooshed between a lot of stuff   
  
**nescient**- adj. Ignorant. Therefore 'you nescient bastard' is Chiriko's way of saying you ignorant bastard, a very nasty insult in his mind.  
  
**battened**- to fasten or secure. Batten down the hatches! Aye, aye Captain!   
  
**neonate** - an infant in the first 28 days of its life   
  


**sang-froid** - bravery in the face of danger OR in even more common English, balls. 

  
**Autodidactic**- an autodidact is a person who mastered something without formal learning so the adjective form would mean...

**esoteric** - not generally intelligible; meant for people with special interest or knowledge. 

~ While you're down here, why don't you review? ~


	10. It's All Coming Together Now

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Fushigi Yuugi but I do own a rather nice '96 Subaru Impreza. If Watase Yuu wishes to swap with me though, I'd be willing to consider it. 

~ Let's recap, shall we? Miaka and Nuriko escaped the bandits when Nuriko made and reneged on a deal with Chichiri. Hotohori left to go find the pair and Tamahome took the opportunity to pull off his biggest heist ever - stealing the nation. Hotohori met up with Chichiri and the twins. He told Chichiri his life story, except for the part where he was the emperor of Konan. Tasuki is in a power struggle with Nakago that has been going on since their leader's death several years prior. The bandit of Suzaku recruits naïve little Chiriko to his side with the promise of glory. Chichiri and co. were on their way to the capital to make good on Nuriko's promise. Miaka and Nuriko are in Chouko, surviving by exploiting the seishi's great strength. It's all going to come together soon. ~ 

Spelling not Required

Chapter Ten: It's All Coming Together Now

By: omni82

"One, two, three…" Nuriko did her best to block the sound of Miaka's voice out. They were sharing a small apartment, now decorated lavishly with gifts given to the pair by their adoring fans. The empress couldn't believe her luck. Not only had she escaped the pressures and obligations of her station, but also she had escaped it with someone so talented at making money that she was practically guaranteed the opulent lifestyle she had enjoyed as a princess makes. Now if only her companion wasn't so damned insane…

"Do you really have to count the money again, Miaka? You've done it twice already today. Why can't you just let it go?" At her seishi's insistence, the priestess of Suzaku kept her underwear off the floor. This proved to be less of an inconvenience than Miaka had originally expected because now she had the space to lie out each and every coin they possessed. It was fast becoming her nightly ritual to count their money and hide it in a new and unusual place before going to sleep. And for good reason too.

"I won't let a single yen escape me, Nuriko! I swear by the breath of Suzaku that I won't let that bastard who calls himself our landlord get even a penny of my money!" Miaka cried passionately. Nuriko just rolled her eyes and went back to brushing her hair. She heard this every night.

"You can't still be mad at him for beating you to that fish can you? He grabbed it first, fair and square. I'm surprised he agreed to rent to us after that black eye you gave him. Do you really have to be so violent?" 

"I don't care," Miaka told her petulantly. "Myoujuan is the meanest man to tread this part of Konan. And his wife is a witch too."

"His wife is a demon, dear. There's a difference. And don't you hold that against her, either. Shoka can't help being the way she is. I think they're both perfectly lovely people. If you won't pay the rent, I will." Nuriko said firmly. She made a grab for the purse that Miaka clutched to her chest.

"No Nuriko, no!" She shrieked. 

"Give me that!" 

The scuffle that ensued brought the man in question to their door. Myoujuan had just begun pounding on the door when Nuriko, using her exceptional strength, flipped Miaka onto her face and wrenched the purse from her grasp. After hastily fixing her clothing and running a delicate hand through her extraordinary violet hair, Nuriko opened the door. She offered their disgruntled landlord a sweet smile.

"Myoujuan-san, we were just talking about you."

"Is that so? I hope it was about how desperately you wanted to pay your rent which is due in two days, ladies." Myoujuan reminded them. He was a big man, his bulk filling up the doorway so that Nuriko couldn't even see past him to the hallway. He nearly always wore a gentle smile and had a small white cat that followed him around everywhere.

"Can we pay it early? I have the money right here." Nuriko asked. Myoujuan nodded and she started counting out coins. Meanwhile, Miaka was scraping herself off the floor. 

"Ow," she hissed, plunking down to sit on the floor Indian-style. "Nuriko, you bitch, I have a splinter." She clutched her left wrist and gazed at the heel of her hand that was scraped and bleeding.

Myoujuan entered the apartment and knelt at Miaka's side. "Let me take care of that for you," he said. Capturing her small hand between his, he swiftly removed the offending sliver. Miaka stared in wonder as her wound stopped bleeding and the reddened skin became whole again.

"That's amazing," Nuriko breathed.

"That's high marketable," Miaka declared. 

"Any doctor can remove a splinter," he told them wryly. "It isn't like I'm performing brain surgery, though it may be of more use to this patient than a splinter-free hand." He stood up and, ignoring Miaka's fierce scowl, and left the rooms. The pair sat quietly, as his fading footsteps became nothing but silence.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Nuriko finally asked.

"Yeah. If we brought him on, we could make a killing." Miaka answered absently. She was rubbing the newly healed skin with a forefinger. Something about him was so familiar and irritating. It was as if…

"It's like he's Chouko's version of Tamahome for me," she explained aloud. Nuriko sighed.

"Do you ever listen to me? I said he must be a Suzaku seishi. What he did to your hand was not natural."

"A Suzaku seishi? Like you and Tama and Hotohori? What a weird koinkydink. I seem to be collecting you guys." Miaka said brightly. She got up and started puttering around the room as Nuriko stared at her.

"Are you dense? You're supposed to be collecting us! Have you given any thought at all to what being the Priestess of Suzaku means?!" Nuriko was just about to go off on to a tirade when Miaka's laughter cut her short.

"I'm kidding, Nuriko. I know that I'm supposed to be looking for you guys. I have to summon Suzaku and protect Konan from all dangers." At that, she heaved a great sigh and flopped on to her bed. "It's just…" 

Nuriko plopped onto the bed beside her. They lay on their sides now, face to face. "What's the matter, Miaka? Being Priestess of Suzaku is a very great honor."

"I know," Miaka replied miserably. "It's just that I don't want to do it! I don't want the fate of the nation riding on my shoulders! I'm irresponsible and dumb. I don't have any of the qualities a priestess should have. I'm clumsy, I eat too much, and I rob innocent people. Back home, everyone knew that I'd never amount to anything and that was okay. I never had to do anything great but here…" Her voice trailed off. "What if I mess it up?" She asked in a little voice.

Nuriko began stroking her hair. "Hey, look at me. You aren't dumb. You may be a little irresponsible but you have a caring heart and that counts for a lot. Suzaku chose you as his priestess for a certain reason. You have such energy about you; it inspires people. I never thought I would ever escape the pressures of my life but here I am in a city, perfectly anonymous and glad to be so. You make me hope, Miaka. You make Myoujuan emote. You made Tamahome famous and more daring. You've made Hotohori free. You've accomplished more than you think you have. You'll find the rest of the seishi and change their lives too. And when you finally summon Suzaku, I have no doubt that it will be he and not you that will be doing the bowing. So brighten up, you still have more adventuring left to do. Let's have the most fun we possibly can before continuing your mission."

"Does that mean we can go to a nudey bar?" Miaka asked hopefully between her sniffles. Nuriko smiled and laughed.

"If you want to. I guess I can forget I'm a married." 

"A married virgin no less. Nuriko, you know if you and Hotohori don't consummate your marriage in six months, it's automatically annulled." Miaka reminded her gently.

"Six months? We had better get crackin.'" She joked but Miaka's knowing stare caused her to sigh. "I know all about that. Hotohori-sama told me on our wedding night." 

"Really? That's not very romantic." 

"Yeah, it was definitely a mood killer for me." Nuriko agreed. "It's because he's in love with you. He wants his bride to be you."

Miaka choked. "You can't be serious! Hotohori doesn't want to marry me! I'd be a pitiful empress. He'd have to pardon my crimes every other hour."

"I know that and you know that but he doesn't. Besides, it won't matter that much if what I heard today was true."

"Is there a civil war coming?" Miaka inquired her interest piqued.

"I heard that the current emperor pro tempore was not of royal blood but of divine. Hotohori has left the palace and placed one of the Suzaku seishi in charge!" Nuriko explained to her befuddled companion. 

"Tamahome?" Miaka gasped. "He was the only one left in the palace when we went shopping that day. He was hurt badly so Hotohori must have left him behind to watch over the nation while he came to look for us. And here I thought Hotohori was smart! Doesn't he realize that Tamahome would do anything to get his hands on that much wealth?"

"And power," Nuriko agreed. "I shudder to think of what Tama-babe is doing right now."

***

"Tamahome-sama, may we speak to you?" Four advisors had found him and now Tamahome was backed into a corner. You would think he'd be living the wild life as the emperor but no, every time he turned around another councilor showed up, needing attention. They were like a bunch of three-year-olds and it was pissing him off majorly. Just as soon as his stitches came out, he was going to kick each and every one of their asses. But until then…

"Yes?" Tamahome asked with exasperation. The men began babbling excitedly, interrupting each other in their haste. 

Tamahome groaned and leaned against a nearby wall. He didn't really care about whatever these idiots were blabbing on about but as emperor he had to at least pretend to pay attention. But he swore to Suzaku above that when Hotohori came back and he was legally crowned, the old busybodies would be the first to go. This warrior of Suzaku wasn't stupid like the rest of the emperors; he would appoint people to his cabinet who listened to him and had something good to say when they open their mouths. Briefly, he wondered how many of the women in his harem would be competent. 

"Sire? Are you listening to me?!" Finally, one advisor caught on that Tamahome was really faking his attention and began to scream in his ear. "Did you even hear one word I just said about the bandit problem?" 

"Bandit problem? What bandit problem?" Tamahome demanded. He hated bandits! Bandits are dirty. Bandits are hicks. Bandits smell. Bandits don't let the very fine women of Konan into their flaming all boys' club. By Suzaku, bandit problems needed immediate attention!

"You're coming with me," he told the councilor, pulling on the tubby man's robes. Leading the official like one would a horse, Tamahome managed to situate the portly man in his office without bursting a single stitch. When the man began to fidget in what Tamahome could only describe as awe, the emperor pro tempore started to pace. God, it was a miracle that he hadn't been driven to drink by now! 

"Start at the beginning and leave nothing out." It was a reasonable demand but maybe he should have included a no stammering clause in it as the advisor started stuttering every other word.

"T-the b-b-bandits of Mount Reikaku a-are ad-ad-advancing t-to the c-c-c…"

"Just spit it out man!" Tamahome hollered. He was getting a deeper appreciation for the gray hairs that Hotohori tried so desperately to hide. 

"The bandits of Mount Reikaku are advancing on the capital and claim that by the restrictions of honor, you owe them the country!" The advisor was breathless after blurting out what he imagined to be his death-sentence. To think that it would all come to this: the nation stolen twice in the last two months! He needed to get a better job if he even lived through this ordeal. 

Tamahome just cocked an eyebrow. "Terms of honor, huh? I don't recall making any deals with anyone that would put me in the sticky situation of turning over the country, which I so rightfully stole! Who told you this load of bullshit?" 

"S-sire, a messenger arrived not ten minutes ago. I tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen…" The man was pulled out of his seat and, for the second time that day, was pulled around by the emperor of Konan. 

"The throne room, right?" Tamahome asked, his stride never pausing. There were so many intricacies for royal conduct that he could never remember it all. It didn't really bother him to ask for help; how else could you learn? He was mildly certain that messengers were received in the throne room but the advisor's confirmation gave him little to rejoice about. So what if he was picking up the required polish? Some dirty hicks were out to steal his accomplishment right out from under him. Well, they would regret the day they ever butted heads with Suzaku no seishi Tamahome! 

Settling himself on the newly upholstered throne, Tamahome regally beckoned the guards to bring forth the messengers. He was so good at pretending to be noble that if this didn't work out, he could look forward to a successful career as an actor. 

Six burly, brutish soldiers escorted the messengers in. The bandits were a motley crew, dusty and weary from their travels. Internally, Tamahome smirked. It was so sweet when your prejudices had factual roots. 

"Speak," was all he said though. It was best not to irritate those who wished you harm. 

A man of medium height and slight build stepped forward. Briefly, Tamahome's attention was caught buy the sheer defiance of gravity the outlaw's hair possessed. With the hair, the one eye, and the proud demeanor, messenger was a fine example of a criminal. Oh, how Tamahome missed being out on the streets, mugging people with Miaka. Those were the simpler days.

"Sire, I come on behalf of my leader Genrou of the Mount Reikaku tribe. The matter is most urgent and of great importance." 

Tamahome took in the disrespectful way the man refused to kneel before him. He noted the vacant expressions of the two boys standing behind their sub-commander if the messenger could be called that. And he also didn't miss the flaring nostrils of the man standing slightly behind the messenger. And although shadows concealed the man's face and shoulders, Tamahome had a good idea who the person was and why he was angered by the way everyone catered to their new emperor. This was so good. 

"Please continue," Tamahome said smoothly. "I have heard great things about your leader and wish to hear what business he thinks he has with me." 

The messenger looked nonplussed when Tamahome referred to Genrou's exploits as great. Shouldn't the emperor hate the criminal who was such a thorn in his side? Nevertheless, he continued as instructed. "As you may have noticed, your wife and Priestess were abducted by our leader some time ago. They were not harmed in any way, no da, but the empress was unfortunately forced to make a promise that we expect you to honor." Tamahome crooked an eyebrow. Didn't he know of the coup? Any promise Nuriko made bound Hotohori, not him. 

"Pray tell, what was this promise she made?" 

"The lady swore on her husband's life that she would not run away. I'm afraid she did just that scant minutes after making such an oath, no da. And though she and the Priestess have been recaptured, we still expect you to honor her agreement. After all, you don't want anything to happen to them, do you?"

Tamahome smiled broadly; he couldn't help it. "And how does this concern me?" He queried with feigned nonchalance.

"I've come to claim your life, no da." The messenger said seriously. "Honor demands that you give it up quietly and without delay. The emperor of Konan is an honorable man who would have no choice but to oblige if he wanted to save the lives of those two women." 

Tamahome kept grinning. "That was extraordinarily clever." He remarked, getting off his throne and heading toward the small group. Several advisors and soldiers tried to stop him but he just shrugged them off. 

"I thought so, no da." The messenger said, his smile growing to match Tamahome's. 

"Can I ask the name of the man who would be my killer?" 

"Chichiri, no da. I promise to make it quick and painless." 

Tamahome threw his head back and roared with laughter. This was priceless; his power was cemented now. Still chuckling, he slung an arm around Chichiri's neck affably. He turned the man to face his companions, notably the one who was scowling so fiercely now. 

"Well Chichiri, Nuriko fell into your trap as you planned. But I'm afraid that your little deal with her has nothing to do with me. Maybe if she had sworn on the life of the emperor, it would be different although not by much. You were right to say that _previous_ emperor of Konan was an honorable man. I'm sure he would have walked right into his death but I am not so saintly. The business you have is with Nuriko's husband and not me. Isn't that right Hotohori?" 

Chichiri gaped at the ex-emperor and the twins stared in horror. 

"You aren't a woman?" They cried in unison. 

"No, I'm not a woman." Hotohori said stonily. "And it looks like I am not the emperor either." 

"As for your threat against the Priestess of Suzaku's life and the life of the ex-empress, I don't believe you really have them. You see, I spent a lot of time with Miaka. For several months we lived together so I have an almost psychic connection to her. And I have this gut feeling that not only is she not with you but she's having the time of her life. So really, my dear Chichiri, you have nothing to deal with." 

Chichiri was speechless. Tamahome took advantage of that and turned the man around again. "Let's get some rooms made up for you and your friends." He suggested gently. "I can't let a Suzaku no seishi just wander off into the sunset, you know." 

"I'm your prisoner?" Chichiri found his voice but it was very faint. Genrou was going to kill him! Maybe it was best that he stay in the palace where he was safe from his boss's rage. 

As a pair of soldiers helped the emperor's new 'guests' stagger away, Hotohori turned on his star brother. "We are going to talk about this Tamahome." he hissed. "You must be insane to think that you can manage an empire correctly!" 

"Hotohori, you are absolutely correct. We do have to talk. But you are the insane one if you think I'm going to give up my empire so easily!" Tamahome replied in much the same tone. Hotohori drew back, an appalled expression on his face. 

"You sure as hell aren't going to have me to worry about stealing your throne!" He exclaimed. "I've done my time and am glad to be rid of the damned thing. I just don't want to see you run the country where I live into the ground." 

Tamahome sighed, the sound of audible relief. That was one less thing to worry about it seemed. Hotohori wouldn't let him screw up the ruling process too badly and he was glad. Only his biggest worry hadn't been resolved now. 

"Tell me what you know about Miaka," he said, walking companionably next to his friend. And he prayed that for once, everything would be all right.

TBC…


End file.
